


A Hidden Life

by oiseaus



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiseaus/pseuds/oiseaus
Summary: Canon-divergent AU. Anna Smith arrives at Downton Abbey in 1912, a young woman with a mysterious past. Bates has already been there a year. How will their story unfold? (Downstairs-focussed, involving many characters as it follows the basic plot of the show)
Relationships: Anna Bates/John Bates
Comments: 39
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter I

_"Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise." -W.B Yeats_

Chapter I

"Well, your references are impeccable, Miss Smith," the butler said, scanning the two sheets of paper once more. "Henley Park and Mayfield Hall are both impressive estates. Two years at Henley, six at Mayfield." He looked at her a bit quizzically. "Forgive me, but why leave a position after six years? Mayfield is larger than Downton. You were the head housemaid."

"Yes."

"And how many were under your supervision?"

"Twenty-six, Mr. Carson. Twenty-eight with the two scullery maids."

He raised his eyebrows, looking from the housekeeper, who stood beside him, and back to her.

"I wanted to see more of England, Mr. Carson. And perhaps work somewhere smaller than Mayfield."

"I see. And if we decide to take you on, shall I expect you to hand in your notice in a few years time so you can see even more of England, Miss Smith?"

She looked from the housekeeper back to the butler, but he cleared his throat before she could speak. "Would you excuse us, Miss Smith?"

She nodded, standing from the chair in front of his desk and walking to the door, closing it quietly behind her. A tall, wirey person whom she took to be a hall boy rushed past her, calling back an apology. Although he had seemed hurried, Anna recognised the two hours of calm that followed breakfast. Once everyone was dressed, fed, the dishes washed, servants could get on with their work with relatively little stress. Now was a time of mending, ironing, making beds, polishing and, for a lucky few, a time to sit down and rest. Though normally not prone to eavesdropping, with the quiet of the hallway and the low timbre of Mr. Carson's voice, she was able to more or less make out what was being said behind the closed door.

"I don't think she's suitable."

"And why is that, may I ask?" the housekeeper asked incredulously in her Scottish accent. "She has experience in two houses. Twenty-eight maids! Mr. Carson, need I remind you that in all my time at Downton Abbey we have never employed more than twenty-five at a time?"

"Exactly, Mrs. Hughes. She'll be better suited in a larger house."

"Nonsense. I want her," Mrs. Hughes said firmly. "After all, she'll be under my supervision."

"Now, Mrs. Hughes, the last thing I need is a repeat of what happened last month."

The housekeeper chuckled. "What are you trying to say, Mr. Carson?"

Anna bit her lip, waiting.

"I expressed the same concern when we hired Lilly two years ago, and now look what's happened."

"Mr. Carson, am I to understand that you fear another...distraction?" Mrs. Hughes teased.

"Well-" he grumbled.

"Will I be forced to put out another advertisement? _Wanted: housemaid: pretty faces need not apply_?"

"Now, Mrs. Hughes, I only meant-"

"Enough, Mr. Carson. Michael and Lilly are gone and we are in need of replacements. In all honesty, I could do with _two_ extra sets of hands." She sighed. "Miss Smith is perfectly suitable. If you'd like, I can tell the maids not to brush their hair or clean their faces from now on. Perhaps then they'll be less distracting."

Anna heard a good-natured chuckle from Mr. Carson, and stepped back from the door and further into the hall before Mrs. Hughes came to open it again.

"Come in," she said gently, and Mr. Carson stood from his desk, looking mildly uncomfortable.

"Miss Smith, we would like you to start tomorrow, if that's not inconvenient," he said. Anna shook her head and smiled quickly. "You will be directly responsible to Mrs. Hughes. She will explain the rules of the house to you. Number one: no gentlemen callers."

"Yes, sir," she said. "Thank you, sir."

Mrs. Hughes turned to her. "Well done," she said. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room."

Anna nodded once more to Mr. Carson and then followed Mrs. Hughes out.

"Access to the maids' quarters are this way," Mrs. Hughes said, pointing to the left. "Men's quarters up the stairs at the other end of the hall. A door separates the two and I am the only one with the authority to open it." With Anna following behind, the housekeeper pulled open a door and started up a winding staircase, white walls all around, with push-doors at each landing opening into the house, the kind of doors that seem to open out of a wall. "How large was the household at Mayfield?"

"Fifty-nine of us, Mrs. Hughes," Anna said. "Eight in the family."

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "Well, we're forty-three all together serving a family of five. If I had my way, I'd have at least one other maid, and Mr. Carson could do with another footman. We manage, but it does all seem to only come together at the last minute."

Anna smiled. "I'm sure it's that way in all large houses. There's always more to do."

"It certainly seems so," Mrs. Hughes said as they reached the landing. To the right was a long hallway with doors to each side, each bearing the names of their occupants. Mrs. Hughes opened the second door on the right side of the hall and stood aside to let Anna in. Two beds with little night tables, a wardrobe at the wall. Two small desks with chairs. A frosted four-paned window. One bed looked slightly slept in and hastily made, a small book resting on the night table, but the other was stripped of its linens.

"You'll be sharing with Gwen, the head housemaid." The housekeeper couldn't help moving to Gwen's bed and straightening the sheets while they stood there. "Where have you been staying?"

"The Grantham Arms."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Well, I can have someone walk into town with you to help fetch your things, if you like."

Anna shook her head. "No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I can manage. I haven't got much to carry."

"Very well. After lunch you could go back into town." She looked Anna over quickly. "And we'll need to find you some uniforms."

* * *

Anna was ironing her new uniforms (two each of a printed morning dress and standard black, four aprons) in the mending room when a rosy-cheeked, freckled redhead poked her head in.

"Are you Anna?"

"Yes," Anna said, propping the iron up.

The girl smiled and walked in, holding out her hand. "I'm Gwen, the head housemaid. Mrs. Hughes said you were in here." Her expression was bright, her eyes clear and unclouded by judgement.

They shook hands. "I wanted to get them ironed before tomorrow."

"You're staying to eat with us?" Gwen confirmed, and Anna nodded. "Good. You'll get to meet the rest of the staff. Some of them, anyway." She smiled shyly. "Mrs. Hughes said you'd worked at a house with almost sixty staff. Is that true?"

Anna chuckled. "It sounds like a lot, but the house was so large you'd think there were only ten of us." She picked up the iron again to smooth out the last wrinkles in one of the black dresses.

"I can't imagine," Gwen said, looking wistful. "I've been here since I was sixteen."

"I started at sixteen, too," Anna said. "We're old hats at this, then; aren't we?"

Gwen smiled again. "You, maybe. I've only become head housemaid since Lilly left a month ago. I thought it would be easy, just going on as normal with a few extra tasks, but I was wrong. This is my first real break since six o'clock."

Anna remembered those early days after her promotion at Mayfield, when she worried about forgetting to do something every time she found herself with spare time. Wearing herself out walking through rooms to make sure that absolutely everything was pristine.

"It'll get easier," she said, noticing Gwen's worried expression. "Anyway, now you'll have me to help. Just give me a few days to get used to the house. If it's any bit like the others, you can get lost turning a corner."

"You'll be all right," Gwen said. "Before, Lilly and I would dress the girls. I only dressed Lady Sybil, and Lilly looked after Lady Edith and Lady Mary. This past month I've been doing all three unless Miss O'Brien or Mrs. Hughes helps."

"Well, I'll help you," Anna said, like it was obvious.

"Oh, do you know how to dress?" Gwen asked. At Anna's bewildered nod, she sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God for that."

"Are they really that horrible?" Anna joked.

Gwen chuckled. "No, of course not, and especially not Lady Sybil," she said, her voice warm. "It's just having to do all three of them. And Miss O'Brien's never very keen on helping."

"Who-"

"Lady's Maid to her ladyship, and proud as a peacock," Gwen said, crossing her arms. "She doesn't like to do much outside her job description."

"I see," Anna said with a quirk of her lips.

The cook called out for lunch and Anna smoothed down the blue dress she'd arrived in, braving herself for the nerve wracking prospect of being introduced and expected to remember dozens of names.

"Come on, they won't bite," Gwen said, walking out with her. "You'll sit beside me."

First to the servants' dining room, Gwen led her to a wooden chair to stand behind while a kitchen maid scurried around making place settings. She looked up at Anna.

"I'm Daisy," she said, smiling widely. "Your dress is just beautiful. Isn't it, Gwen?"

Gwen nodded. "Daisy, this is Anna."

Anna smiled. "Thank you, Daisy."

"Daisy!" a voice bellowed from the kitchen. "Where are you?"

"Coming, Mrs. Patmore!" the girl called back, then hurried off. From the dining room, they heard a snippet of conversation.

"There's a new girl, Mrs. Patmore, and she's got the loveliest dress. It's blue, and-"

"I don't care if she's wearing a wedding dress! Now, take out the stew before it freezes over."

"Yes, Mrs. P-"

"And come back when you're done, you've still got the bread and steamed vegetables to carry out!"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore!"

Gwen and Anna held in laughter when Daisy came back in, looking harried and carrying what was presumably the stew. The second she left, the girls started giggling.

"What's funny?" a tall, blonde boy asked, walking in and going to his chair. His eyes widened. "Gwen, who's your friend?"

"Anna. The new housemaid," Gwen explained.

"William," the boy said confidently, reaching across the table to shake her hand. "Second footman."

"Pleased to meet you," Anna said warmly.

"I'm sure the others'll be here in a moment," William said, looking over his shoulder. As the words left his mouth a gaggle of maids and hall boys poured in, each standing behind a chair. Informal introductions were made, after which they all turned to each other to continue whatever conversations they'd been having.

"Gwen?" The cold voice came from a woman Anna assumed, by her uniform, to be the Lady's Maid, Miss O'Brien. "You said you were in a rush. Seems to me you had more than enough time to see to Lady Mary's laundry, and yet I was the one stuck fetching it while you were down here socialising."

" _I_ told her to go down when she did. Thank you, Miss O'Brien," Mrs. Hughes said, coming in behind the taller woman. She looked over to Gwen and Anna. "You had time to introduce yourself, Gwen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. Anna knows how to dress, so maybe she could see to one of the girls. Then Miss O'Brien wouldn't have to."

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "Well, we can talk about that later, Gwen. Anna hasn't even seen the inside of the house. You'll show her around after she gets her things from the village."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

Anna nodded, watching as more staff came in. A footman with jet black hair, who stood by William, a man she took to be a valet, although he walked with a slight limp and used a cane, who stood across from Gwen. And then Mr. Carson appeared, followed by Daisy with the bread, which she set down before running back to the kitchen. Chatter ceased as Mr. Carson took his place.

"Now, before we begin, two announcements, everyone: you'll notice Anna Smith, the new housemaid. As we're quite short handed, she'll be starting tomorrow, and Mrs. Hughes and I are counting on you to help her if she has any questions. This is a large house, and I know you all remember your first days working here, so please make her feel welcome. Second, there will be four extra guests, including the Dowager Countess, at tonight's dinner, so I will have to call on a maid to help serve, although it pains me to do so." There was a twittering amongst the maids, wondering who would be chosen, while Mr. Carson gestured for them all to sit.

"You know how to dress, do you?" Miss O'Brien asked after the meal had started and small conversations were carrying on among the younger staff.

Anna nodded. "Yes. I dressed the only daughter in the last house I worked in."

Miss O'Brien raised an eyebrow. "Are you hoping to be a Lady's Maid, then?"

"I don't know. I only hope I'll be happy in whatever I'm doing," Anna said.

"Happy?" O'Brien scoffed. "That's a lofty goal for someone working in service."

"Worried someone's coming after your post, Miss O'Brien?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"I'm happy, if that's any consolation," the man across from Gwen said, looking at Miss O'Brien, then at Anna. His eyes twinkled.

"Well, those are the first words I've heard come out of your mouth today, Mr. Bates," the dark-haired footman said. "Never thought I'd hear someone who'd been through a war, gotten injured, and almost lost his job in his first week say he's happy."

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "That's enough shining optimism for today, thank you, Thomas."

"What sort of house were you working in before you left?" William asked.

"I was at Mayfield Hall," Anna said. "I don't know if you've heard of it."

William shook his head.

"In Somerset?"

Anna nodded at Thomas, a little surprised. "That's right."

"You worked for Lord Darlington?"

She nodded again, though puzzled at how a footman in Yorkshire would know about the estate. "Why? Has he visited here?"

Thomas shook his head, pondering her. "I knew someone who worked at Mayfield. A footman. Called Harry."

Anna thought for a moment. "We called him Henry most of the time."

Thomas looked at her for a little longer than was natural. "That's right. Henry."

Anna took another spoonful of the stew, which was delicious, the only proper meal she'd had since she arrived at the train station last night with her one suitcase. The walk from the station to the inn had been cold and miserable in the rain, and she'd arrived in muddied shoes, practically soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her head, hoping she'd still be able to have a room even looking like a ruffian. She'd risen at dawn to try and tame her hair into a respectable chignon at the top of her head, and instead of her more professional, modest dress which had been ruined in the rain, had been forced to put on her best day dress. Dark blue. She'd felt ridiculous sitting down in it for her job interview, but it was all she had.

The train journey, although spent sitting down, had been exhausting. Having never really traveled, her knowledge of the breadth of England's geography was limited, and after hours of staring out the window at the rolling landscape her eyes had started to burn. But she hadn't wanted to sleep lest someone take her suitcase, with all she had left of her life packed neatly inside. The hours went by, the train pulling her further and further away from a life she didn't want to look back on, toward a new one, a fresh one. With the faith that remained in her she'd prayed to be hired at Downton Abbey. It was the only post she'd applied for, and in that small inn last night she'd lain in bed, her skin chilled from rain even under the quilt and duvet, and prayed again. Prayed that they'd take her on even in her blue dress, even with her inexplicable and sudden departure from Mayfield. Because she couldn't go back there. She could never go back. She wouldn't.

* * *

After settling her bill and collecting her suitcase from the Grantham Arms, Anna walked back up to Downton, where she left her suitcase in the room she'd be sharing with Gwen and changed into one of her new black dresses, tied on the apron, and prepared to meet her employer. Back in the servants hall, she ducked her head into Mrs. Hughes' open study, but found it empty.

"Well, now you look the part," a voice from behind her said, making her jump. She turned and found herself facing the quiet valet from the lunch table. His eyes smiled again.

"You're Mr. Bates," Anna said. "Or is it Mr. Barrow?"

The man chuckled. "I'm Bates. Mr. Barrow is Thomas, when he's feeling full of himself. Are you looking for Mrs. Hughes?"

"She wants to introduce me to Lord Grantham."

Mr. Bates nodded. "She went to speak to the gardener, but I'm sure she'll be along in a moment."

"All right. I'll wait here."

"And as I've nothing better to do, I'll wait with you," he said kindly.

"Nothing to do? I wouldn't be caught saying that if I were you."

"I didn't say 'nothing to do', I said 'nothing better to do', but you're right. No respectable valet would want to be caught ironing petticoats because the butler heard he had nothing to do."

Anna held in a laugh. "No, he wouldn't."

"Lord Grantham is a good man. At lunch you said you hoped you'd be happy in whatever you're doing." He considered her. "I think you will be happy here."

She smiled softly. "Thank you."

The sound of keys on a ring clinking together and footsteps coming down the hall signalled the arrival of Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Bates stole away back into the dining room with a smirk.

"There you are," the housekeeper said, looking her over. "How do they fit?"

"I'll have to take up the hems on the morning dresses, but I can do one tonight and finish the other tomorrow."

"Very well. Now, come with me."

Downton Abbey was everything Mayfield hadn't been. For all Mayfield's architectural beauty, it was a dreadfully empty house. Intricately carved wooden detailing on some walls made hanging art or tapestries there impossible. Uncarpeted staircases kicked up echoes no matter how softly one mounted them, and the younger children's voices, when not confined to the nursery, rang through the rooms, sounding off ceilings like cries in a cathedral. While making the beds one morning Anna had thought she'd heard a scream, only to discover that the cat had made its way upstairs and was voicing its distress as it roamed the hallways. Even in summer, filled with flowers and people, Mayfield had felt somehow unwelcoming.

And here was Downton Abbey, brimming with colour and light. Every room lusciously detailed, obviously designed with extreme care and consideration, each part of the house blending together in a fluid way she had never experienced before. The library, where they finally came upon Lord Grantham, was nothing like the bleak, monotonous, and perpetually dusty one at Mayfield. But she needed to stop comparing the two. She needed to stop thinking of the other house. This was her life now.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes," Lord Grantham greeted, looking up from his book. He was younger than Anna had expected a man with three grown daughters to be, his hair only beginning to grey, and there was a light to his expression that only life in the countryside could possibly bring. A large and handsome dog lay at his feet, looking loyal and perfectly content.

"Here is the new housemaid, milord," Mrs. Hughes said.

"Yes, Carson told me at luncheon. It's Anna, isn't it?" he asked, looking directly at her. Lord Darlington would never have done so. It had taken him years to even realise he had a member of staff with the same name as his wife.

Anna curtsied. "Yes, milord."

"Well, you're very welcome here, Anna," he said.

"Thank you, milord."

He smiled politely at her, then turned back to Mrs. Hughes. "Mrs. Hughes, Carson mentioned there might be a maid serving at dinner tonight."

"Yes, milord, I'm afraid that's right."

"You know it doesn't matter the odd time," Lord Grantham continued, "but if Carson is so put out by it, would you tell him he has my permission to put out word for another footman? Bates can't carry, so perhaps it would be for the best."

"I'll tell him, milord," Mrs. Hughes said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." He looked back to his book, then up again. "Thank you, Anna."

* * *

"Lady Mary's the eldest?" Anna asked, looking around the room. The walls were a lush merlot with silvery-white embellishments designed to mimic a medieval tapestry. The curtains, pulled back so the meek sun lit up the white bed linens, were saffron and soft to the touch.

"That's right," Gwen said, moving to the vanity table to move a small jewellery box back into place. "And she's set to marry Lord Grantham's first cousin, once removed, Mr. Patrick."

"Do they love each other?" Anna asked, looking out the window, watching as a hall boy walked Lord Grantham's dog on the grounds.

"Can't say. Lady Mary isn't one to talk about her feelings, at least to us." Anna turned away from the window and watched Gwen open the wardrobe. "Spring wardrobe in here, along with nightgowns and underthings. Gloves in the drawers at the vanity. Most of the shoes she wears during the week are here in the closet left of the wardrobe, but there are more for special occasions downstairs."

"Hats?"

Gwen smiled, shut the wardrobe, and pulled open the closet, where several pastel hat boxes were neatly stacked. "Sometimes they'll share, and something of Lady Edith's will end up in Lady Sybil's room, or Lady Mary will borrow something from her ladyship. Just do your best to put things back where you found them."

"Will I be dressing Lady Mary?"

Gwen shook her head. "Don't worry," she said. "We wouldn't make you your first day. Tomorrow you can help me with Lady Sybil and Lady Edith. Miss O'Brien will take Lady Mary. Come on, let me show you the other rooms."

In total, Gwen's tour lasted nearly two hours. Although she only showed Anna the rooms she deemed the most useful to their daily work, each one still had a list of specifications and procedures that went along with it. After her position and experience at Mayfield, Anna felt she could look at a room and decipher how it was cared for in under five minutes, but she listened carefully to everything Gwen told her, paying special attention to family quirks and preferences (Lady Grantham was allergic to daffodils, Lord Grantham leant out his books to everyone in the house, including the servants). These were what made a house a home, even a great house like this one.

All three daughters had gone into town with their mother for Lady Edith's dress fitting, and weren't expected back for tea, although this did not seem to affect the pace of the day when Gwen and Anna finally made their way back downstairs. The extra guests expected that evening kept a hum of anxious energy in the air as candlesticks were polished, cutlery counted, and linens ironed. There was heated commotion from the kitchen as preparation for dinner began. Instead of the strictly scheduled and (for the most part) silent afternoon tea she'd experienced at Mayfield, the staff seemed to be taking their tea as they could, some chatting, one writing a letter, Miss O'Brien mending something with her cup of tea beside her near the fire.

"I have to go lay the table with the other girls," Gwen said. "Take your tea, and if you have any questions, ask Mrs. Hughes. Or come up and find me."

"Do you need an extra hand in the dining room?"

Gwen smiled apologetically. "Mr. Carson wouldn't like me having you work before tomorrow. And maids don't normally help. Only for large parties."

"I could watch," Anna said. "Then at least I would know how."

"But you'll miss your tea."

"I don't mind," Anna insisted, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Oh, all right then."

When they arrived upstairs Thomas greeted them with an annoyed expression and a tray of broken glass. "It's for the footmen to lay the table, Gwen. I don't need a flock of maids around to break everything in sight."

Gwen hurried past him and looked into the dining room while Anna stayed back.

"Sophie," Gwen called gently. "Jenny. You can go down for your tea now. Once everyone is dressed and at the table I'll send you up to turn down the beds."

Thomas looked down at Anna. "How many years did you work with Harry?"

"I can't remember," she said truthfully. "It was a large house. People were always coming and going."

"Did he ever talk about going to London? Do the Darlingtons have a house there?"

"Yes."

"Yes, he talked about it, or yes, they have a-"

The two younger maids came between them, rushing down to have their tea, with Gwen trailing behind.

"Anna, I've got to go check everything over. Just go down for your tea," she said, "I'll come later."

Anna nodded and looked back up at Thomas, trying to recall what he'd said.

"Thomas, I think I've got the spoons wrong," William called from the dining room, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Take this," he said, handing Anna the tray with the broken glass, and turned on his heel back to the dining room. Not wanting to linger, Anna went back the way they'd come and down the winding staircase to the servants hall. Miss O'Brien happened to be returning from the mending room and, noticing the tray, stopped in her tracks.

"I hope that's not her ladyship's fine crystal," she said softly. Coming closer, she inspected the pieces. "You'll have to tell Mrs. Hughes, so she can make a note of it."

"Tell me what?" Mrs. Hughes asked, rounding the corner. Seeing the glass, she gasped a little, looking at Anna.

"The new housemaid's broken some of the crystal, Mrs. Hughes," O'Brien explained.

"Is it only the one?" she asked.

"I think so. I can go back up and check," Anna offered.

"No, I'd prefer if you stayed down here, Anna," Mrs. Hughes said, a small note of disappointment in her voice. "I'm afraid that takes us down to thirteen glasses."

Anna felt heat rise in her face under Miss O'Brien's stare. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes."

"Yes, well, it's done now," Mrs. Hughes said resignedly. "Go on and have your tea with the others, Anna. I'll take care of this." She took the tray and turned back down the hall, leaving Anna and Miss O'Brien in the hallway. Anna moved past the older woman and into the servants' dining area, taking a seat on the right side of the table, away from the fire, feeling flushed.

"Not the best way to start out," Miss O'Brien said softly, returning to her place by the fire. Mr. Bates, sitting across from Anna, looked up from his book.

"What's not the best way to start out?"

"Breaking some of the family's crystal, that's what."

Mr. Bates chuckled, picking up his cup of tea. "I can think of worse ways."

"Such as?"

"Falling on your face in front of a duke." He took a sip of tea. "Like I did during my first week at Downton last year. Surely _you_ remember, Miss O'Brien."

When he got no response except a scoff, he stood a little, taking a clean cup from beside the teapot, filled it, then slid it across the table, smiling a little.

"There," he said. "No use crying over spilled milk. Even it did come from a crystal saucer."

"Oh, she's not crying, is she?" Miss O'Brien said incredulously, turning around to look at Anna, who laughed at the playful expression on Mr. Bates' face.

* * *

Although in uniform, Anna was stuck sitting at the table while the rest of the staff went about their afternoon tasks, some casting jealous looks at her. When she offered to help the boys carry in wood for the fires, they told her she couldn't lift the chopped logs. When she offered to iron the fresh laundry one of the maids, Jenny, told her she'd be scolded if she didn't do it herself. She even asked to help in the kitchen, but was chased away by some biting remarks from Mrs. Patmore. For a moment she even considered going up to her room and settling in, but it felt selfish somehow. And so she sat and watched until nine, at which point the bulk of the staff sat down to supper.

"Well done this evening, William," Mr. Carson said after a few minutes of communal chatter.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," the young footman said, his cheeks just slightly pink.

"And thank you, Gwen, for your help serving. It was most appreciated."

"You're welcome, Mr. Carson," Gwen said. "I was happy to do it."

"Yes, well, as it is, I am _considering_ hiring another footman," Mr. Carson said. Thomas looked up.

"Would that make me the under butler, Mr. Carson?" he asked.

Mr. Carson looked at him sharply. "As long as I am present you are referred to as the first footman, Thomas. I'm beginning to lose count of how many times we have had this conversation."

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Thomas said, looking pleased with himself. "Oh, there was a glass broken earlier this evening. I thought you should note it down."

"Thank you, Thomas, but Mrs. Hughes has already informed me. It's only the nerves of a first day, and as maids will not, I hope, in the future be laying the table, seeing as it does not officially fall under their duties, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Anna informed Mrs. Hughes, and that is all that needs to be said on the matter." Mr. Carson picked up his fork again. Thomas looked across the table, meeting Anna's eyes.

"But Anna didn't break the glass, Mr. Carson."

"Oh?" the butler said, his fork still poised, looking at Anna. "Then why did you tell Mrs. Hughes that you had?"

Anna looked quickly to Miss O'Brien, then back to Mr. Carson. "I didn't, Mr. Carson. She must have assumed that it was me."

"If it wasn't you, then why on earth did you come down here with the pieces on a tray?" Miss O'Brien asked.

"I gave it to her to take down," Thomas said.

Mr. Carson sighed. "Enough. Who is responsible for breaking the crystal glass?"

"I am, Mr. Carson," said a small voice from the end of the table.

"Sophie?"

"I'm ever so sorry, Mr. Carson. It won't happen again, I swear it." The poor girl sounded near tears. The table had fallen silent.

"Oh, it's all right, Sophie. Everyone, finish your supper before it gets cold. This isn't a Greek drama," Mr. Carson grumbled.

Mrs. Hughes chuckled. "Quite right."

Mr. Bates, sitting beside Anna, asked, "Why didn't you tell Mrs. Hughes you hadn't done it?"

Anna shrugged. "I didn't want to accuse anyone of something they hadn't done."

Even while taking a piece of broccoli on her fork, Anna felt Mr. Bates looking across the table at Miss O'Brien. Keeping her own eyes on her plate, she smiled.

* * *

After washing up and changing into her nightclothes, Anna sat down at her small desk with a piece of paper and a pencil. She bit her lip, then turned to Gwen, who was reading.

"All right, I've waited all day, and I just have to know."

Gwen looked up. "Know what?"

"Why Lilly left!" Anna whispered. Gwen smiled, setting down her book.

"She was head housemaid. Ran off with the first footman, Michael," Gwen said, clearly delighted to be gossiping, and pleased at Anna's surprised reaction. "They were always flirting. Lilly was like that with all the boys. And then one night they up and left together without telling a soul!"

"To get married?" Anna asked. "Were they eloping?"

"Who cares! I think it's romantic, leaving like that in the dark together."

"You don't think it might be a bit foolish, as well ?" Anna asked.

"Yes, of course," Gwen said, laughing as quietly as she could. "I hope they'll be all right. Maybe she'll send a letter back one day."

Anna smirked. "Mr. Carson did seem rather traumatized this morning at the thought of hiring another maid. I think Mrs. Hughes had to push him to take me on."

"He'll come 'round. Mrs. Hughes can convince him of almost anything once she puts her mind to it. And you may have even won over Thomas today. I've never seen him stick up for someone, and especially over something so small." She yawned. "I slept through Lilly leaving, so you won't wake me while you write. Better get to bed soon, though. Tomorrow we're up early."

Anna nodded. "I won't be long."

"Goodnight, then," Gwen said, putting her book on the night table and turning away from the light of the candle. Anna picked up her pencil again.

_11 April 1912_

_I'll never forget your face. Never, as long as I live. Today was a new day, the beginning of my new life and I hope, for your sake as well as mine, that we will survive all the changes, all the challenges that starting over brings with it. Even far away from me, you will always be in my heart. I love you._


	2. Chapter II

Anna rolled over at the sound of Gwen saying her name, still cocooned in the sheets on her small bed.

She opened her eyes and groaned a little. "For just once in my life I'd like to sleep until I woke up natural."

Gwen sighed. "Or had a fire lit. Imagine that."

Anna smiled, closing her eyes for just another moment.

"Come on," Gwen said, her voice gravelly, "I'll lace you in."

"Oh, would you? It takes half the time."

They dressed quickly and efficiently in their morning dresses, corsets snapped and laced, aprons tied neatly. A bit of cold water splashed on their faces, their hair woven like bread in neat chignons almost covered by white caps. It was a strange sensation. The uniform was different, the house unfamiliar, and she hadn't yet met the people she was about to dress, yet Anna felt as if no time had passed since the last time she'd put on her uniform at Mayfield, managing her corset on her own, her hair back in its more severe style than the ones worn here, her plain face staring back at her from the small mirror above the dresser.

Gwen headed straight to Mrs. Hughes' office as soon as they got downstairs.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes," she greeted.

"Good morning, Gwen, Anna," the housekeeper greeted.

"I thought Anna could come along with me today, and she can go on her own tomorrow."

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "Very well. No dawdling."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," they said together. Anna followed Gwen back up the staircase to the first floor. Gwen directed some maids to the library and led Anna forward.

"We'll do this one first," Gwen said, gesturing to the right. Anna remembered it was the morning room.

They automatically went to the windows, pulling back the heavy shutters and fastening them tightly. The curtains were opened, filling the room with a pale April dawn. Anna noticed tiny dust particles floating in the stabs of sunlight. She went to the rose-colored sofa in front of the fireplace and began plumping cushions on one end while Gwen did the other, then noticed the kitchen maid trying to build a fire in the hearth.

"Daisy?" she asked, remembering the girl's name. "Whatever are you doing there, crouching in the dark?"

"You weren't here, and I didn't like to touch the curtains with me dirty hands."

"Well, quite right, too," Gwen said. "Why didn't you put the lights on?"

"I daren't."

"It's electricity," Gwen said, "not the devil's handiwork. You'll have to get used to it sooner or later." She and Anna started brushing off the cushions with their clean hands, moving any dust that had settled overnight.

Anna thought of Mayfield. "Some houses even have it in the kitchens."

Daisy looked at her, bemused. "What for?"

"To see better, silly," one of the younger maids said, walking through. "Wouldn't you like to see if you've got the salt or sugar in your hand?"

Daisy considered this, then turned back to her work. The soft jingle of keys announced the housekeeper's arrival as she made a quick appraisal of the morning's work.

"Is the library tidy?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Gwen said. "I sent Betsy and Amelia."

"Good. I want the dining room given a proper going over today," the housekeeper said, looking at Gwen. "You and Anna can do it when they've finished their breakfast." The girls nodded, moving to the cushions on the chairs.

"Oh, heavens, girl!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed, noticing Daisy at the hearth, working away, her hands blackened with soot. "You're building a fire, not _inventing_ it. How many have you done?"

"This is me last till they come downstairs."

"Very well," the housekeeper said. "Now get back to the kitchens before anyone sees you." She moved on through the room, presumably to inspect the next one, while Gwen and Anna finished with their cushions.

"Why do they need all the fires, anyway? They're not in their rooms but an hour before coming down."

"I guess they want to be comfortable," Gwen said. "Nobody likes to wake up cold."

"Then why don't we have them?" Daisy asked.

Anna exchanged a smirk with Gwen.

"Come on, let's do the drawing room before we go back down," Gwen said.

* * *

Ten minutes later the main staff sat around the table for a light breakfast. Porridge, just as Anna had eaten every day for the past ten years. At Mayfield they'd sometimes had the luxury of a dollop of jam to sweeten the tasteless meal. Here there was butter.

"Gwen and Anna are going to dress Lady Sybil and Lady Edith today," Mrs. Hughes announced. "Miss O'Brien, you will please see to her ladyship and Lady Mary."

Miss O'Brien looked up from her tea mid-sip. "You heard Gwen last night going on about Anna knowing how to dress. Why can't she see to Lady Mary?"

"Because this is Anna's first day. She hasn't even been introduced to Lady Mary."

"I don't mind, Mrs. Hughes," Anna said. "Miss O'Brien is right. I do know how to dress. It won't be a problem."

Mrs. Hughes looked at her. "Perhaps you could start with Lady Sybil this time." On the wall behind her, the first bell of the morning rang.

"And they're off," Thomas said, putting his spoonful of porridge back in its bowl before he could take another bite.

"That's her ladyship," Miss O'Brien said, standing. Another bell rang. She turned to Anna. "And there's Lady Mary."

"Don't fret, Mrs. Hughes," Anna said, standing and pushing in her chair. "Gwen showed me the rooms yesterday. Where can I find Lady Mary's tea?"

"This way," Miss O'Brien said, going to the service window by the kitchen and pointing to a tray of china cups. "Is it hot?" she asked.

"Would you like me to splash it on your face to find out?" Mrs. Patmore called.

Miss O'Brien only raised an eyebrow and took one of the cups, steam rolling off the surface of the murky brown tea. "I'll be back in a minute to take her breakfast up."

"I await your return with bated breath!"

"Not that one!" Daisy said quickly as Miss O'Brien turned to leave and Anna reached for a cup. "Lady Mary doesn't take milk in her tea. It's the one in the middle."

Anna smiled. "Thank you, Daisy."

She hurried up the servants' stairs to the second floor where the family bedrooms were located and pushed the door open. The silence of morning, save the ticking of a tall grandfather clock as she walked past it down the hall, light catching on the crystal chandelier in the great front hall and dancing on the wood panelling like faeries. She knocked quietly on Lady Mary's door and, at the small noise of assent, let herself in. A regal young woman lounged in the mussed bedclothes on the large bed, her dark hair loosened from its braid.

"Good morning," she said. Her voice, low, was scratchy with sleep.

"Good morning, milady," Anna said, going to the bedside table to set down the cup of tea.

"Where's Gwen?" Lady Mary asked, her brow knit in eight o'clock confusion.

"Downstairs, milady. Would you like me to draw the curtains?"

Lady Mary took her cup of tea and blew across the surface. She cleared her throat slightly and shook her head. "Not yet. I'll ring again when I'm ready to dress."

"Very good, milady." Anna bobbed a curtsy and left Lady Mary to drink her tea in the red, womblike dark.

* * *

When she returned to the servants' hall Anna was greeted by a very different sort of chaos than was typical of any morning in a large household. From the hall she saw that two of the maids, still sat at the table, were crying. There was an excess of staff clogging the dining area and hallway, all speaking to each other worriedly, and the back door was open. Cold April air blew through, chilling her ankles. Mr. Bates, Thomas, and Gwen had already gone up. Anna found the first person she recognised.

"Jenny? What's happened?"

The young girl looked at her with wide brown eyes. "That big ship, the Titanic, it's sunk out at sea."

"What?"

"It's in the papers," Jenny said, gesturing to the one Mr. Carson was hurriedly scanning before taking them to the dining room for Lord Grantham to read over breakfast. "There was an iceberg." Anna stopped William with a hand on his arm as he walked by.

"Is it true?"

"'fraid so," he said, passing her, carrying something for the upstairs dining room.

"But didn't they say it was unsinkable?" one of the hall boys asked.

Mr. Carson grunted, folding the papers neatly. "Evidently, they were wrong. Now hurry along, it doesn't concern any of us."

A bell rung in the servants' dining room.

"That's Lady Mary," a footman called.

Mr. Carson looked up. "Anna."

She turned and went back upstairs, taking them a bit too quickly, lost in her thoughts, so that when she opened the door into the sumptuous hallway she had to steady herself with a hand to her abdomen where the corset constricted her movement. It couldn't be real. A great, sturdy ship like the Titanic didn't just sink in the middle of the ocean. And all those people…

When she knocked and opened Lady Mary's door again she found the young woman in her dressing gown standing in front of her opened wardrobe, staring at the carefully hung clothing as if she expected a dress to present itself for the day. She noticed Anna.

"Still no Gwen? Am I not to have the pleasure of dressing with O'Brien this morning, then?" she asked with a note of sarcasm.

"It'll be me today, milady."

"All right. I'm sorry, what is your name again?"

"Anna."

Lady Mary nodded. "Anna. I suppose the curtains can be drawn now. I was thinking of blue today." Anna crossed the room to neatly pull the curtains back while Lady Mary perused her wardrobe with better lighting. "And I may go riding after breakfast. You might tell Lynch."

"Very good, milady," Anna said, then went to rejoin Lady Mary. "Have you decided?"

Lady Mary nodded. "Yes. The gathered blouse with the flowers, and my blue skirt. The new one," she said, shedding her dressing gown as Anna moved to find undergarments. Having familiarised herself with all three of the girls' clothing the day before, she had no problem locating the blouse, but came across two blue skirts. A quick feel of the fabric told her which was newer. The dressing process was efficient and easy, with very little conversation. At Mayfield, Lady Eleanor had always been quite chatty, but she was younger, and the only girl among five brothers. It was a treat for her to converse with a young woman, even if she was only a housemaid.

"You can do something simple with my hair," Lady Mary said, sitting at her vanity and checking her face in the mirror. "We'll only have to redo it when I go out."

Anna nodded and started undoing the long braid of dark hair, gently taking a brush to it, beginning at the ends. Lady Mary applied her perfume and studied Anna through the mirror.

"You're very quiet," she observed. "How long have you been with us?"

Anna looked at her in the mirror. "This is my first day, milady."

Lady Mary raised her eyebrows, then her expression softened. "I won't bite, you know."

Anna smiled a little and turned her attention back to her work. "It's not you, milady," she said truthfully. "Only we just heard downstairs that the Titanic had sunk." She gathered some hair up from one side and began pinning.

"That's impossible," Lady Mary said, although her interest was piqued. "It's probably all press to make the arrival in New York all the more exciting. Americans do like their headlines."

"In the papers they're saying it was an iceberg."

"Goodness," she said, taking a pair of blue teardrop earrings out of a Chinese jewelry box. "What a story."

Lady Mary hummed a little, watching her reflection. Her eyes brightened. "Oh, Anna, that's very clever! Where did you learn that?"

Anna smirked, winding the plait she had finished around an elegant yet simple chignon, a cousin to the one she wore herself. "My mum taught me, milady. I think it's nicer than tucking the ends in at the back. What do you think?"

Lady Mary touched the back of her head, turning her head to admire the subtle intricacy of the style. "Well, I'd take my hat off to your mother, but I don't want to ruin my hair," she joked. "Do you think you can manage it again for dinner?"

"Of course, milady," Anna said. "Will you be needing anything else?"

Lady Mary was about to speak when a soft knock came on her door. Her two sisters slipped in. Anna recognised Lady Sybil as the youngest from the way she wore her hair, still down and tied in a ribbon. Lady Edith, with her blonde hair, looked slightly out of place between her sisters.

"Mary, have you heard?" Lady Sybil asked, her voice gentle and caring.

"About the Titanic? Yes, Anna told me." Lady Mary looked back in the mirror, putting her earrings in.

"It's wretched to think about," Lady Sybil said. "All those people, drowning in the cold water."

"I'm sure they didn't _all_ die," Lady Mary said. "Sybil, what do you think of what Anna's done with my hair?"

"It's lovely." She smiled at Anna. "Gwen said there was a new housemaid."

Anna bobbed a curtsy and looked at Lady Mary. "Will that be all, milady?"

"Yes, thank you. You might ask Mrs. Hughes to send you instead of O'Brien to dress me for dinner. Tell her I requested it."

"Very good, milady."

"We should go down," Lady Edith said as Anna crossed the room to leave, "Perhaps Papa hasn't heard."

* * *

Once the girls were headed down the staircase, Anna went to Lady Sybil's room, where she found Gwen remaking the bed.

"Can I give you a hand?"

Gwen looked up in relief. "Thanks. Normally Betsy would be doing this, but she's in a state, and I didn't want to make her come up in tears."

Anna went to help her shake out the duvet and pull up the sheets, tucking them tightly.

"How was Lady Mary?"

Anna shrugged. "She didn't believe that the Titanic had sunk. Thought it was just a story for the newspapers."

"Lady Edith thought I dreamt it up to give her a fright," Gwen said.

They stepped away from the bed and stood up straight when the bedroom door opened again, only to see Miss O'Brien, holding a white cloth that needed stitching on the edge.

"Yes?"

"His lordship just came in while I was setting down the breakfast tray," Miss O'Brien said quietly. "He says Mr. Crawley and Mr. Patrick were on the ship when it went down."

Gwen and Anna resumed making the bed. "But they would have been all right, wouldn't they?" Gwen said. "Being in first class."

"'Neither of them were picked up'. That's what he said."

"Mr. Crawley _and_ Mr. Patrick?"

"What did I just say?" Miss O'Brien said. "Her ladyship was the colour of this cloth."

Gwen frowned, taking up a pillow to plump it. "Well, it's a terrible shame if it's true."

"It's worse than a shame," Miss O'Brien said. "It's a complication."

Anna and Gwen continued making the bed and tidying while Miss O'Brien stood in the room, apparently waiting for more discussion but unwilling to help in the work.

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.

"What do you think? Mr. Crawley was his lordship's cousin and heir to the title."

"I thought Lady Mary was the heir," Gwen said as they put the finishing touches on the bed. Anna picked up a candlestick that needed to be polished as they left the room and moved down the corridor to Lady Edith's -a bright, sunny room in shades of green, with dark wood furniture.

"She's a girl, stupid. Girls can't inherit," Miss O'Brien said. Anna remembered the argument that had broken out when Edward and Alexander, the two eldest boys at Mayfield, had gotten in a drunken fight over who truly deserved Lord Darlington's title, spilling beer all along the parquet she had only finished polishing the day before. "But now Mr. Crawley's dead, and Mr. Patrick was his only son. So, what happens next?"

Anna felt a strange wave of sadness wash over her. Even though she didn't yet know the Crawley family, she could already sense the damper of loss it would bring to the vibrant house. "It's a dreadful thing," she said.

"Well, you're none the wiser," Miss O'Brien said, her eyes hard. "You didn't even know them."

"No, but I know what it's like to lose someone overnight," she said, working with Gwen to shake out the duvet. "It's a dreadful thing, whoever you are."

Miss O'Brien crossed her arms. "Anyway, her ladyship asked me to sort out her black. You should do the same for the girls."

"How long will they be in mourning, do you think?" Gwen asked.

"Six months, her ladyship said. You'll have to see that everything still fits. Might let some of them out for Lady Sybil." Miss O'Brien smirked. "Grief makes people hungry."

Anna frowned. "That's not very kind."

"It's the truth," Miss O'Brien said.

"Go on," Gwen said. "I'm sure Anna and I can manage on our own. Thank you, Miss O'Brien."

* * *

The staircases at Mayfield had been narrower and taller than the ones at Downton, but no matter how many times she went up and down them a day, going all the way to the attics in any house put a strain on her calves. Anna was still catching her breath, slightly out of practice, when she noticed Mr. Bates standing in front of an open cedar-lined wardrobe. The smell reminded her of Christmas. It was stuffy up here, though, and dusty. She sneezed into her elbow.

"What an entrance," Mr. Bates remarked, reaching into his waistcoat for a handkerchief. She waved her hand.

"It's all right, I've got my own." Taking her handkerchief out of her pocket, she wiped at her nose, then caught her breath.

"I'm just getting out all of his lordship's black," Mr. Bates said. "What's suitable for spring and summer, anyway." A basket by his feet served as a receptacle for whatever was wearable. All of it would then be laundered, mended or altered if necessary, and ironed out.

"And I'm here for the girls."

Mr. Bates walked a bit further into the attic and pointed to two wooden chests. "Miss O'Brien was already here for her ladyship, so things might be a bit untidy."

"It's no problem," Anna said, pocketing her handkerchief and going to the chests, opening them up. Again the fresh, nostalgic smell of cedar.

"You won't tell anyone if I take a moment to rest, will you?" Mr. Bates asked, gesturing to a wooden chair that had ended up cast to the side on the opposite wall.

Anna shook her head. "'Course not." She began sorting through yards of delicate beaded fabrics, wools, cachemire, looking for any black. She stole a look at the valet sitting down in the chair, his cane on the floor beside him, and wondered how he'd gotten up all the stairs.

"You said you'd been working in Somerset."

She separated a dress from the others and studied it, looking for clues as to sizing. It could be worn through June, if that. "Yes," she said shortly, then, "They'll be burning up under all this in the summer."

Mr. Bates chuckled. Anna looked at him.

"I shouldn't laugh."

"What is it?"

"It just seems a bit unfair, doesn't it, that we're in black every day of the year, even in summer, while they wear every colour under the sun."

"Speak for yourself. I've still got my cap and apron!" she joked.

He held up a hand in surrender and glanced back at the open wardrobe. "If I sit any longer I won't be able to get up again." He stood from the chair and, limping without his cane, resumed sorting through the wardrobe. Anna sneezed again.

"Bless you."

"Thank you. So far I've only found two frocks, and I don't even think I could fit Lady Sybil into them," she said, defeated, before moving onto the second chest.

"She's grown up over the past year," Mr. Bates said.

"Oh, yes? And what would you know about such things, Mr. Bates?"

He chuckled. "I meant that her mind's matured. I know we're not supposed to listen…"

Anna looked away from the cabinet and over to him curiously. "Go on. I won't tell."

He smiled a little nostalgically. "She's the sweetest one out of the three of them, but there's some fire in her. It was something she said one night. She challenged something his lordship said during dinner. I can't remember what it was now. But he listened, and he respected her point of view, saw the logic in it. Just a girl of seventeen."

Anna smirked. "Some of us would be looking for a smack in the mouth if we challenged our fathers at the dinner table."

Mr. Bates turned his head, the smile still in his eyes. "That's the sad truth, isn't it?"

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, with Anna depositing the girls' black in with Lord Grantham's, knowing they would sort it later at the laundry, until she finally put her hands on her hips and looked into the wardrobe.

"That's all I can find. Maybe I haven't looked everywhere."

"You'll have to ask Mrs. Hughes," he said. "Come on, we'll go down together."

Anna nodded, and they closed everything back up. She sneezed again.

"Bless you."

"Thank you," she laughed, wiping her nose once more. Mr. Bates bent to pick up the basket, but she stepped forward. "I'll carry that, Mr. Bates."

"I can manage," he said, his cane in his other hand.

"I'm sure you can," she said. "If you want to be stubborn about it, I can carry it down halfway and then we'll switch."

He looked back at her. "I can manage."

"I know," she said, her voice bright, "but I don't trust you with all those fine fabrics." She pursed her lips to hold in a smile until he relented, letting her take the basket and slip out ahead of him, starting slowly down the stairs.

"You better not sneeze on any of that," he called as she walked down ahead of him. Anna laughed. It felt good to laugh. Her mouth hurt from speaking and smiling after so much silence.

* * *

She wasn't used to animated mealtimes. At Mayfield the staff ate together in silence, sometimes so late she couldn't stomach the food. When the butler put down his knife and fork it signalled the end of the meal, which led to eating small portions too quickly. The insufficient diet coupled with seemingly endless hard work had made wearing a corset necessary only for warmth. At Downton the staff sat close together and chatted through the meal, catching up with friends after the butler and housekeeper shared any announcements. And Mrs. Patmore's cooking was hearty and filling. Anna had been given a thick slice of bread with her stew, but she knew that for the first time in years she wouldn't be sneaking half of it into her pocket to save for the morning before work began.

"How did you get on today, Anna?" Mrs. Hughes asked. "Lady Mary seemed satisfied."

"Very well, I think, Mrs. Hughes."

"I think you can dress her, then, and help with Lady Edith and Lady Sybil if Gwen is too busy in the mornings."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Anna said. "I already found black for tomorrow. It's airing, but I'll take it up with me when she rings."

"Some of it will have to be altered," Gwen added. "I can work it out tomorrow if it's all right, Mrs. Hughes."

The housekeeper nodded. "They'll be needing them as soon as possible."

"Miss O'Brien, could I borrow some of your black thread?"

Miss O'Brien looked at Gwen with raised eyebrows. " _Borrow_ my silk thread? How are you planning to get it back to me, then? What's wrong with the thread in the mending room?"

"I can't use it on an evening gown," Gwen explained. "That one's for uniforms and jackets."

"Well, you won't be having any of mine," Miss O'Brien said. "Go down the village and get your own."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "I'll send someone down tomorrow after breakfast," she told Gwen. "In the future, when we run out of thread, I'd like to be informed."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Gwen said.

"Can we have a game of Charades after dinner, Mr. Carson?" William asked. There was excited twittering from the younger staff.

"Certainly not," Mr. Carson said shortly, and the chatter ceased. "I will remind you all that there have been not only one, but two deaths in the family. As such, I expect an appropriate amount of respectful compassion from each of you."

"Of course. Sorry, Mr. Carson," William said, looking back at his plate. The room fell into awkward, chastened silence before Thomas spoke up.

"What do we know about the new heir?"

"Only that there is one," Mr. Carson said, putting his knife and fork down. Reflexively, Anna did the same. "It is not our business to concern ourselves in the family's affairs."

* * *

"It'd be different if Mr. Crawley had died here," Gwen said as they got ready for bed. Anna looked over, braiding her hair. "In his sleep, or something. Imagine you're on a ship all morning only to have it go down."

"Were they close with the family?"

Gwen nodded, pulling her knees to her chest under the sheets after climbing into bed. "Mr. Patrick was set to marry Lady Mary."

Anna frowned. "But this evening she seemed so…" She searched for an appropriate word. "So detached." Because of the death, Lady Mary hadn't gone out riding. She'd only walked with Lady Grantham on the estate. Anna had seen them from the window in one of the guest bedrooms after luncheon. And then before dinner Lady Mary hadn't even mentioned Mr. Patrick, instead lamenting the fact that she had to start wearing black when Anna brought up the freshly aired dress, promising to have more choices available the next day.

"At least it's only until September," she'd said at last, after standing to examine herself in the mirror.

Gwen shrugged. "That's Lady Mary," she said.

"What do you mean?"

Gwen bit her lip, thinking. "The girls couldn't be more different, if you ask me. I don't know how she was with Lilly, but I always got nervous dressing her. Lady Sybil is so friendly, and even Lady Edith has something kind to say in the morning."

Anna got into bed herself, a shawl around her shoulders. "Some people don't wake up friendly."

Gwen nodded, yawning. "I don't see how they could be bothered by anything in this world. All they have to do is ring, and they can have whatever they want. I once had to turn on the lights for her ladyship because she didn't know where the switch was."

Anna chuckled, then remembered a question she'd meant to ask Gwen earlier. "Gwen?"

"Mhm?"

"How did Mr. Bates hurt himself?"

"He fought in the Boer War," Gwen said quietly. "He was his lordship's batman. I'm not quite sure how he got injured. Must have been shot, or something."

"But he still works as a valet?"

"It was strange at first," Gwen admitted. "We didn't know how he'd manage with the stairs. We thought he wouldn't last a day, but his lordship kept him on."

"That was good of him."

"But he can't carry," Gwen said. "Thomas has been after his job since he arrived. Always complaining about the extra work he's got to put in because of him." She sighed. "He's quiet. We don't hear too much from him." She yawned.

The strain of the day settling in, Anna leaned over to blow out the candle. The small bed squeaked while she settled under the sheets. "Well, that's me done in."

"I'm glad you're here," Gwen said. "Mrs. Hughes is, too. She told me."

In the dark, Anna smiled softly. "I'm glad to be here, too."

She courted sleep for what seemed like hours, Gwen's steady breathing the only sound in the room, moonlight catching on the side of the wardrobe, along the floorboards. The threatening storm cloud of fear she'd been living under for so long had been chased away by something as simple as a train ride, but the aura of peace emanating from this house worried her. Feelings were dangerous and not to be trusted. She knew this now. To arrive at a house only to find it suddenly struck with death...life itself couldn't be trusted. Taking a steadying breath, Anna closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. It was all over and done with. There was no going back. Her chest ached, her eyes burned, but she finally found sleep.


	3. Chapter III

The rain started falling the day the Crawleys left for London to attend their cousins' memorial and continued until the night they came home. The trees were heavy with it, Downton's green grounds transformed into muddy pools. It had been a week of spring cleaning for the staff who stayed behind: undersides of furniture polished, walls behind paintings dusted, even the kitchens received an intensive cleaning, leaving everyone exhausted if only from hearing Mrs. Patmore's shrill orders to her poor kitchen maids. Which is why there was a communal, silent groan at the sight of Thomas and William when they reached the servants' hall after carrying up the luggage, their livery darkened with the rain that had fallen on them while fetching it all from the motor. They tracked in dirt on the freshly mopped floor, which meant they'd without a doubt left some on the staircase that would need to be scrubbed off.

"Early night for us," Thomas announced, shrugging out of his jacket. "They ate on the train."

There was a loud clatter from the kitchen. "What?! After I've gone to all this trouble?" Mrs. Patmore cried.

"Will it keep?" Daisy asked.

"Until tomorrow evening? I should think not!" The sound of a pan tumbling ungracefully into the large sink. "I planned this with her ladyship ten days ago. I made a bleeding lemon meringue!"

A bell rang, and Anna looked from her mending to the wall. "There's Lady Mary," she told Martha, a fifteen year-old maid who she was helping master a complicated stitch. "You're doing well. Keep going around the edge."

Martha frowned in concentration. "And if I make a mistake?"

"I'll show you how to undo it," Anna promised. "Look after mine, would you?" She stood from her chair, pushed it in, and left for the servants' stairs. In the nearly two weeks since the family had gone to London she had mastered the geography of the house although, just as it had been at Henley and Mayfield, the family's absence didn't alter the amount of work in a day. It increased it, as they could fill the windows normally reserved for dressing, family mealtimes, and tidying of bedrooms with seasonal chores. The only members of staff enjoying a small holiday were the gardeners, as April showers were sure to bring May flowers.

Lady Mary's door was already ajar, so Anna only knocked lightly before entering.

"Ah, Anna," Lady Mary said. "I'm afraid I tore the hem on that one." She indicated a dress laid across the foot of the bed. The rest of her clothing was neatly arranged in a luggage case Anna would unpack tomorrow.

"Very good, milady. I'll take it with me when I go down."

Lady Mary nodded. "We ate on the train, so I'll just change now. Perhaps a cup of tea before bed."

Anna closed the door and helped Lady Mary undress from the black she'd worn while traveling into a nightgown, listening to her talk about what she'd accomplished in London, which hadn't amounted to much. The weeks immediately following the death of two cousins weren't the most opportune time to go shopping or call on friends. Even receiving guests was slightly frowned upon. Anna supposed it was difficult to be in mourning for someone who wasn't an immediate family member. Their absence from your life must not severely alter the way you lived it. But a fiancée...Anna couldn't wrap her mind around the way Lady Mary had grieved him. Had she done so in secret? It took a steady inner strength to hold yourself together while breaking inside.

"Will that be all, milady?"

"Yes," Lady Mary said. "Thank you, Anna. We have the church service this Sunday, and then things should settle. I hope so, anyway."

* * *

The sky had cleared by Saturday, and the Sunday of the church service was sunny and bright, the end of April bringing with it the tender warmth of spring and longer days. And although Downton would remain a house in mourning until autumn, the change in weather lightened everyone's disposition, the family's wardrobe serving as the only reminder that a key element to their future was now uncertain. After dressing Lady Mary for dinner, Anna found herself sitting at the servants' dining table mending one of her white caps after it had returned from the laundry with a snag along the edge. Mr. Bates was reading beside her in his quiet way, his concentration unbroken by the bustle around them as Daisy set the table for the servants' dinner.

"Does anyone else keep dreaming about the Titanic?" she asked. "I can't get it out of my mind."

Gwen sighed as she lay down napkins. "Oh, not again. Give it a rest."

"Daisy, it is time to let it go," Anna said gently. The young kitchen maid had been going on about the shipwreck practically every day while the Crawleys had been in London, recounting nightmares, still not convinced a ship lauded as unsinkable could, in fact, sink.

"But all them people," Daisy continued, " _freezing_ to death in the midnight icy water!" She set down a tray of plates, distressed.

"Oh, you sound like a penny dreadful!" Miss O'Brien said from her place near the head of the table, not offering to help.

"I expect you saw worse things in South Africa. Eh, Mr. Bates?" Gwen said, putting a napkin between his and Anna's arms. He looked up from his book.

"Not worse, but pretty bad."

"Did you enjoy the war?" Daisy asked.

Anna stole a glance at his profile while he considered this. "I don't think anyone enjoys war," he said, appearing unbothered by the honest question, "but there are some good memories, too."

"I'm sure there are," Anna said, trying to end the conversation in case Mr. Bates became uncomfortable.

"Mr. Bates, could you hand me that tray?" Gwen asked, pointing to some cutlery spread across the tray beside him.

Mr. Bates put down his book and stood, picking up the tray. A second later he cried out, his curse almost covered by the clatter of forks, knives, and spoons falling to the floor. Anna jumped at the noise, but immediately stood to help. She put a hand on his arm.

"I'll do it," she said, quickly bending over to gather everything back onto the tray while Mr. Bates, still recovering from what could only have been his injury acting up, remained standing.

"Sorry," he said when she stood with the tray and handed it over to Daisy. The kitchen maid scurried away, and Anna looked at Mr. Bates, saying nothing, reading embarrassment in his eyes. The commotion came to an end as Mr. Carson entered the dining room.

"The ladies are out," he announced. "We've given them coffee. His lordship's taken his port to the library. Gwen, Betsy, go up and help clear away." Gwen glanced at Betsy, who had been sitting in a chair with a magazine, and Betsy got up to follow her. "Daisy," Mr. Carson continued, as she came back with clean cutlery, "tell Mrs. Patmore we'll eat in fifteen minutes."

The butler settled into his chair, Bates following suit, as Anna took charge of place setting. Miss O'Brien sat, still not offering to help, with nothing to do, while Anna made an efficient pass around the table and laid the cutlery. When she finished she returned the tray to the kitchen and came back to her seat beside Mr. Bates, taking up her mending. He hadn't picked up his book.

"What are you reading?"

He turned the book over and brushed his index finger over the title. " _Bleak House_."

" _That_ sounds like a penny dreadful," Miss O'Brien said.

"It's by Charles Dickens," Mr. Bates said. "I borrowed it from his lordship's library."

"And is it about a bleak house?" Anna asked, never having read it.

He chuckled, she felt him looking at her. "You could say that. A complicated will, a case brought before the law, an orphan. What more could you want from a novel?"

"None of that for me, thank you very much," Miss O'Brien said, although Mr. Bates was clearly only speaking to Anna.

"What would you prefer, Miss O'Brien?" Anna asked.

"Something with a little hope, so I could take my mind off all this."

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Would you like to voice your complaint to Mrs. Hughes, Miss O'Brien?"

Anna snuck a look at Mr. Bates, trying to hide a smile.

"What?" he asked.

"I suppose I didn't take you for a novel reader."

He leaned back a little, watching as some footmen and maids wandered in, finding seats for dinner. "Oh, the odd one now and then to pass the time." He looked at her. "What do you read?"

Anna finished her last stitch and lay the mended cap in front of her. "There," she said, satisfied with her work. She thought back, turning her head to look at Mr. Bates. "The last one I read was by Helen Keller. _The Story of My Life_ , I think it was called."

"Impressive young woman."

Anna smiled. "Yes."

Thomas and William joined the rest of them, followed by Gwen and Betsy, and finally Mrs. Hughes. As everyone found and took their seats, Anna looked at Mr. Bates again.

"Are you all right, Mr. Bates?" she asked quietly.

"Just the old wound. Please," he said, with only the slightest hint of defensive gruffness, "don't feel sorry for me."

Anna gave him the smallest smile before the moment broke, Mrs. Patmore bringing the meal, Daisy carrying the bread and butter behind her.

* * *

By mid-September the Crawley's black was removed from their wardrobes and stored back in the attics. Lady Mary had a new dress made, and wore it on the day Duke of Crowborough came to call at Downton. From what Anna had gathered from fleeting conversation overheard while attending to Lady Mary, along with the gossip among the staff, the young duke could only be visiting for one reason. The death of Patrick Crawley had opened doors to the estate, and Anna could only assume the duke had asked himself to stay because he thought Lady Mary's prospects had altered, and he wanted a rich wife. Below stairs they had only sparse information about the new heir: his name was Matthew Crawley, a solicitor, who lived in Manchester. And so far there had been no attempt to bring the poor fellow to Downton to see the estate he was to one day inherit.

On the day of the Duke of Crowborough's arrival there was a nervous air of excitement throughout the house, and Mr. Carson was more eager than ever that not one toe be put out of line.

"Are you all ready?" he asked the staff, the majority of them assembled in the servants' hall. They nodded, although Mr. Carson couldn't resist adjusting the lapel of William's jacket as he did one final check. Betsy fiddled with her cap. "Very well," Mr. Carson said. "You should go out to greet them."

Daisy, sweeping the hallway, looked up, her eyes bright. "And me, Mr. Carson?"

The butler looked pained. "No, Daisy, not you." The girl's expression fell. "Can you manage, Mr. Bates? Or would you rather wait here?" he asked, as Mr. Bates was the first to start up the stairs.

"I want to go, Mr. Carson," he said.

"There's no obligation for the whole staff to be present."

"I'd like to be there," Mr. Bates insisted, taking the next stair.

Mr. Carson made a noise of assent. "Hmm. Well, it's certainly a great day for Downton to welcome a duke under our roof."

In front of her, Thomas spoke quietly to William.

"Remember to help me with the luggage. Don't go running off."

"I'll give you a hand," Mr. Bates offered.

"Oh, I couldn't ask that, Mr. Bates," Thomas called up. "Not in your condition."

The Duke's arrival proved somewhat disappointing after all the anticipation that had circulated over the past week, the slightest bit of anxiety Anna had noticed in Lady Mary while she dressed her for the day. He was, after all, just a man with a title, and his arrival in the motor, his pleasant demeanor, could have been witnessed in any aristocrat. When the family had all gone inside, the staff left to return to the servants' hall, where tea was no doubt ready to be taken upstairs. Anna fell into step with Mr. Bates.

"Well, that passed without incident," he remarked.

"What do you mean?"

"The last time the Duke came it was for something, I think maybe a hunt. As we were standing out to greet him, I slipped and fell."

Anna put a hand to cover her mouth. It wasn't funny, but the manner in which Mr. Bates was recounting the event, with a certain air of amusement, made her smile anyway.

"I'm sure it was mortifying for his lordship," Mr. Bates continued as they walked. "And poor Mr. Carson." He noticed her expression. "It's all right, I can laugh about it now, too."

She only chuckled, swallowing her laugh. "I'm sorry."

"I was almost let go because of it," he said. "I don't know what made his lordship change his mind, but he did."

It wasn't funny now. She wanted to tell him to not let Thomas bully him, but it seemed inappropriate to tell a man to not let himself be bullied by someone half his age. They walked together in comfortable silence, birds flying across the sky like a sheet of music in front of them, the musk of summer heat finally shifting into the nutty woodsmoke of autumn.

"Well, I'm glad," Anna said, keeping her eyes forward. The smell of freshly cut grass, gravel underfoot as they reached the servants' entrance.

"So am I."

* * *

After the family had finished dinner and withdrawn -ladies into the drawing room, gentlemen nursing brandy and cigars- Thomas, William, and Gwen finally came downstairs from clearing up.

"How long do you think they'll be?" Thomas asked. "I'm starving."

"Have you settled the ladies?" Mr. Carson asked.

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

"Then it won't be long once they go through," the butler said, leaning back. The day had been busy, and Anna was enjoying her first real moment of rest downstairs when Mr. Bates sat beside her.

"Hello," she greeted, pleased to see him. There was an expression on his face she couldn't quite read. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, "only I saw something so strange today. I wanted to ask you, but I couldn't find you."

"I was busy preparing the bachelor's corridor. Why? What did you see?"

He leaned a little closer. "This afternoon Lady Mary was showing the Duke the house."

Anna frowned. "What's odd about that?"

"I went upstairs to change my jacket and found them in the servants' quarters, looking into our rooms."

"Our rooms?" she asked, alarmed. "Was she in my room?"

He shook his head. "No, they were in the men's quarters. Lady Mary must have opened the dividing door. I saw them coming out of Thomas' room," he said quietly. "Did she mention anything? It doesn't seem in her character to pry."

"It doesn't." After knowing the girls, and especially Lady Mary, for almost six months, she felt she could read them well. Snooping seemed to be something Lady Edith might enjoy, but not Lady Mary. "No, she didn't say anything."

The puzzled lines Mr. Bates wore on his forehead smoothed out. "I just found it strange, that's all."

"Do you think he'll speak out?" Daisy asked the room, setting the table. "Do you think we'll have a duchess to wait on? Imagine that!"

" _You_ won't be waiting on her, whatever happens," Mrs. Patmore said. Gwen smiled indulgently.

"There is no reason why the eldest daughter and heiress of the Earl of Grantham should not wear a duchess' coronet with honour," Mr. Carson said. Anna turned her attention to listen to him.

"Heiress, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes asked. "Has it been decided?"

"It will be, if there's any justice in this world."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Well, we'll know soon enough."

William cleared his throat. "Could I play something, Mr. Carson? Until we're called up again?"

Mr. Carson looked at the expression on the young footman's face. "I don't see why not," he said at last. "Nothing too boisterous, if you please. We wouldn't want to disturb them."

"Oh, they're at the other end of the house, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said. "William, give us a waltz."

The footman stood with purpose and went to the modest upright piano at the corner of the dining room that looked like it had been against the wall for decades. Anna was surprised she hadn't noticed it before. Quiet fell upon the room as he sat and made himself comfortable, then started playing a jaunty piece on the slightly out of tune piano. After a few moments a footman, sitting at the end of the table, got up with Jenny. They tried to dance, not quite on rhythm, but clearly enjoying themselves, and were soon joined by other pairs. Hall boys with maids, footmen with kitchen maids, maids with maids. Anna was surprised to see Mr. Carson wearing an amused expression as some couples relocated to the hall when space became limited. Thomas went out to the courtyard to smoke, and Miss O'Brien followed. Anna saw Teddy, the same wirey boy she'd nearly collided with the day of her interview, glance her way. She smirked at Mr. Bates.

"Go on," he said. "It'll be the thrill of his life."

"Dance with the hall boy?"

He nodded. "Go on. It's better than sitting here."

She rolled her eyes and stood, feeling some heat in her cheeks as she went to the boy, holding out her hand and gesturing with a tip of her head that she wanted to join in the fun. Teddy took her hand and stood, his full height surprising her as she was immediately dwarfed. The music was too fast, it had been years since she'd danced with anyone other than a fellow maid trying to learn steps for a servants' ball, and she was pretty sure she was leading, but the expression on the boy's face was too amusing to make her want to stop. He looked at her like she was the love of his life. Every time Anna turned and saw Mr. Bates watching her, she found herself smiling widely at the ridiculousness of it all. His eyes twinkled merrily as she turned in strange three-step circles. Too soon a bell rung, and Mr. Carson called out for quiet. The couples dancing stopped, catching their breath, and looked to see who had rung.

"Red drawing room," Mrs. Hughes said. "That'll be you, William." The boy carefully closed the piano and stood, hurrying off to scattered applause. "Everyone, settle down. Anna, go and fetch Miss O'Brien, her ladyship is bound to ring any moment."

* * *

After a late servants' dinner and goodnights had been exchanged, Anna hurried up to the room she shared with Gwen, having suddenly remembered what Mr. Bates had told her earlier in the evening. Without pausing to undress, she went to her small desk and opened the drawer, reaching far back until she found the bound packet of folded papers. She quickly thumbed through them, counting. Her heartbeat slowed. Nothing was missing.

Gwen soon came in, and they washed and changed like every other night. Anna braided her hair and glanced out the window at the dark night sky, wondering if there had been a day in the past ten years where she had felt so light inside. How uncomplicated happiness could be. These things always seemed to find her by surprise; the good and the bad.

"I'll only be a moment," she told Gwen, as her friend climbed into bed. Anna sat at her desk with the candle.

"Don't worry, I sleep like the dead," Gwen reminded her.

"Well, good night, then."

"Good night," Gwen said. She turned over in bed, her back to the candle.

Anna reached into her desk drawer and took out a fresh piece of paper and her pencil.

_25 September 1912_

_It is a dark velvet night with stars flung in the sky like white flecks on a black enameled roasting pan. How lucky I am to live under such a sky, in such a place. I hope that one day, wherever you find yourself, you can look at the world and feel the same about it. No one can help where they come from, but they can change the course of their life. They can start in one place and end in another. We are not tied to our tree. You will find your way without me._


	4. Chapter IV

Part One

There was a thread of resentment in Lady Mary while Anna helped her dress to go riding after luncheon. It was Tuesday, and word had arrived at Downton that the new heir, Matthew Crawley, and his mother, Isobel, would be arriving early that afternoon. To her dismay, Lady Mary was being sent down to act as the family's welcome committee, although even she knew she didn't fit the role. Nevertheless, Anna did catch Lady Mary checking her reflection quickly before leaving for the stables.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think you look very determined, milady," Anna said.

A smile tugged at the corners of Lady Mary's mouth. "Well, that's the idea. Wish me luck."

"I don't think you need any, milady."

A raised eyebrow. "Good answer," Lady Mary said. "It shouldn't take long, and I'm riding with Lynch afterward. I'll change for tea."

"Very good, milady," Anna said, going to open the door. She watched Lady Mary leave, taking the stairs confidently, before going down the hall and opening the door to the servants' staircase. Everyone would be taking their tea, and with Lady Mary sorted she hoped to have a moment of peace.

She reached the servants' dining room, bringing with her one of Lady Sybil's socks and a darning needle, and found most of the staff already gathered around it taking their tea. Thomas was having a cigarette, Daisy loitering nearby.

"She's off, then?" Mr. Bates asked as Anna took a seat beside him.

"Yes, although I felt like I was dressing her for battle, not an afternoon ride." She opened her sewing box. "I wouldn't want to be Matthew Crawley for all the titles in the world."

Thomas exhaled, and Anna wrinkled her nose at the smoke wafting across the table. "So, what do you think we'll make of them?"

"I shouldn't think much," Miss O'Brien said. "She hasn't even got a Lady's Maid."

"It's not a capital offence," Anna said, threading her needle.

"She's got a maid. Her name's Ellen." Mr. Bates took a sip of his tea. "She came a day early."

"She's not a Lady's Maid," Miss O'Brien pressed. "She's just a housemaid that fastens hooks and buttons when she has to. There's more to it than that, you know."

"We'll want some very precise reporting when dinner's over," Gwen said to Thomas.

"Are we to treat him as the heir?" William asked, walking through.

"Are we heck as like! A doctor's son from Manchester?" Miss O'Brien scoffed. "He'll be lucky if he gets a civil word out of me."

"We're all lucky if we get a civil word out of you," Anna said, looking up from her work. Miss O'Brien fell silent, and Anna exchanged a glance with Mr. Bates, whose eyes were sparkling again in that secret smile. They all stood when Mr. Carson entered.

"Gwen? Parcel for you," he said, "came by the evening post. And Anna, you've got a letter." Both housemaids went around the table to collect their mail, Gwen continuing on to take hers upstairs. Anna's heartbeat quickened, but she only slipped the letter into her pocket. Mr. Carson gestured for them to sit down again.

"Have you seen them yet, Mr. Carson?" Thomas asked.

"By 'them' I assume you mean the new family, in which case, no." He straightened his jacket. "I have that pleasure to look forward to this evening."

The butler turned to leave, but was replaced by Mrs. Patmore, whose light red hair was frizzy from the heat of the kitchen. "Daisy, did you hear me call, or have you gone selectively deaf?"

Daisy turned away from Thomas, her shoulders tense. "No, Mrs. Patmore."

The cook sighed. "Then might I remind you we are preparing dinner for your future employer? And if it goes wrong, I'll be telling them why!"

Daisy hurried after her back to the kitchens.

"You didn't tell me you'd met their maid," Anna said.

"She and the butler came up to introduce themselves yesterday while you were upstairs."

"And?"

"I didn't speak with Ellen," Mr. Bates clarified. "Only the butler. His name is Joseph Molesley. He's from the village."

"That's nice," Anna said. "To have someone who knows the place. It's not easy to be uprooted like they've been."

"I don't know how you can feel sorry for them," Miss O'Brien said. "The man just became heir to all of Downton, and we'll be stuck serving him."

"Not sorry, exactly. But having to learn all their rules, moving up in class. It's bound to be difficult for them," Anna said, looking back down at her work. "I wouldn't want it."

"Why shouldn't he be a lawyer?" Martha asked from across the table.

"Gentlemen don't work, silly," Miss O'Brien said. "Not real gentlemen."

Anna chuckled. "Don't listen to her, Martha." She looked over at Mr. Bates, who was pouring her a cup of tea. "I wonder what that Mr. Molesley makes of them."

"Poor old Molesley," Thomas said. "I pity the man who's taken that job."

Mr. Bates cleared his throat. "Then why did you apply for it?"

"I felt it might help me to get away from you, Mr. Bates," Thomas drawled.

"Aren't you going to read your letter?" Mr. Bates asked, ignoring Thomas and pushing the cup near her.

She shook her head. "It'll keep."

* * *

Lady Mary had been nearly silent while Anna helped dress her for dinner, the first one spent with Mr. Crawley and his mother. Although nothing was said, it was clear from her demeanour that the afternoon's meeting hadn't gone well, if such an outcome had ever been in the range of possibility. Anna was excused when Lady Grantham came into her daughter's room, presumably to speak with her about the behaviour she expected from her eldest daughter at dinner. Anna had only helped wait at table once so far, but she knew even from the privacy of Lady Mary's bedroom that the young woman had a sharp tongue that wasn't easily bridled.

She tidied the bedroom, left the door ajar for the chambermaids, who would soon come around to turn down the beds for the night, and went back downstairs. The rush of activity from the kitchens as dinner was prepared warmed the servants' hallway, but instead of lingering at the dining table now that her duties were, for the time being, finished, she snuck out the back door to the courtyard. The noise from inside was muffled but not completely drowned out once the door shut behind her. Anna walked a little, autumn air licking her cheeks. They had a few weeks left of mildly cool weather before the season truly turned, but the sky was already swallowing the sun as evening fell. She pulled the letter from her pocket and stared at it for a moment, hoping, then opened the envelope.

_Dear Ms. Smith,_

_I received your letter of inquiry dated 8 October and have looked into the matter. I am sorry to say that no new information is available at this time. Please consider contacting me again in no fewer than three months time, at which point we can inform you of any changes pertaining to this matter. Hoping you are well._

_P. Laurence_

Anna folded the letter, slid it back in its envelope, and tucked it back in her pocket. Had she really expected things to work themselves out so easily? She'd received the same response to the letter she'd sent in July. Now she had to wait three more months. It was crisp and cold outside. The servants' entrance opened.

"Anna?"

She turned and walked back, gravel crunching under her shoes. How odd. For a moment, standing alone in the courtyard, she had felt like the only person left on earth.

"Mr. Carson says we'll be eating in twenty minutes," Mr. Bates said, holding the door open for her.

"I'm not very hungry."

With the door now closed behind them, standing together near a wall of servants' coats, the world seemed small.

"Are you sick?"

She shook her head. "Only tired."

"Maybe you can go up to rest before Lady Mary rings," he said. "I doubt Mrs. Hughes would mind."

Anna smirked. "If I go up now there's no one who could manage to get me down again."

Together, they walked to the dining room. "Well, you should still eat something," he said. "Perhaps that's why you're tired."

"Perhaps."

* * *

That night, after she'd changed into her nightgown, Anna tiptoed to the store cupboard along the women's quarters and took a new candle for her and Gwen. The ones in their room were nearly burnt to the wick. When she slipped back inside, Gwen hurriedly folded a letter she'd been reading.

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing." Her long braid of red hair looked warm and luminous in the candlelight.

"What kind of nothing? You haven't got an admirer?"

Gwen looked at her lap, then back at Anna, smiling. "I might have. And why shouldn't I?"

"Don't tell Mrs. Hughes. She'll bring the vicar round to have you exorcised," Anna teased, blowing out the stub of a candle burning on the desk and going around to her bed.

Gwen sighed. "How are we ever supposed to find husbands if we're never allowed to see any men?"

"Perhaps she thinks the stork brings them," Anna said, climbing into bed.

Gwen looked up. "What about _your_ letter! Was it what you were hoping for?"

Anna shook her head. "Not this time."

"Oh." Gwen bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Anna. Will you have to wait again?"

"Three months." Anna shifted her hair over her shoulder and pulled the quilt up higher.

"It'll pass quickly. You'll see."

Anna nodded. "Hey. Lady Mary's in for a surprise."

Gwen raised her eyebrows, curious.

"Thomas was in the library when old Violet came in from the garden. Seems they want to fix her up with Mr. Crawley."

"Well, it makes sense," Gwen said, pulling the covers up on her own bed. "She was going to marry Mr. Patrick."

"Would she have, though? When it came to it? That's the question."

Anna had puzzled over Lady Mary's reaction to her fiancé's death for weeks and, after spending more time with her, their conversations becoming more personal as time passed, deduced that Lady Mary hadn't loved Mr. Patrick. She was another aristocrat's daughter doing her duty. And with Mr. Patrick gone, there was another heir she could marry, instead of inheriting the estate herself.

* * *

Almost overnight the weather did change, and the following weeks turned into a series of cold mornings, rainy days, and windy nights. Coats, furs, wool skirts, and thick shirts were brought down from the attics. Anna was even knitting herself a scarf. The previous Wednesday when she'd returned from her half-day spent in the village her lips had been tinged blue with cold. One Friday, however, surprised them all. A lovely freshness with no bite of winter. Anna was glad of the sunlight, but stayed behind when the bulk of the staff went into town after the servants' lunch. Sitting at the table with her back to the fire, she worked on her knitting. The methodical stitch that she could accomplish blindfolded calmed her, and it was wonderfully cozy to be near the fire with light streaming in. The familiar cadence of Mr. Bates' footsteps, with its extra beat filled by the silent sound of his cane, announced his presence. He joined her at the table, looking around the empty room.

"Where is everyone?"

"They've all gone down to the village, except William and Betsy. Some traveling salesman has set up at the pub for the afternoon."

"Alone at last," he said, sitting. With him he'd brought one of Lord Grantham's hunting coats, some polish, and a newspaper. There was a hint of something new in his familiar eyes. As if he had forgotten to close the door on a secret, unseen room, the light leaking out from inside suggesting good things lay hidden there. Her stomach flipped a little, like it did when she caught herself from falling down the stairs. "Does Mr. Carson know?"

"Mrs. Hughes does," she said. "She's gone with them. They won't be long."

He lay the newspaper down and took some polish out to see to the metal buttons on Lord Grantham's jacket. "So, you're a housemaid _and_ you see to the girls. You should put in for a raise."

"So does Gwen, and she's _head_ housemaid," Anna said. "It's a lot of responsibility. I don't think I miss it."

The bell rang for the front door.

"William will get it," Mr. Bates said, opening his jar of polish. "How long were you the head housemaid at Mayfield?"

She looked at her knitting needles, the dusty rose wool loops of stitches. "Four years."

"That's a long time."

Anna nodded, starting a new row. The needles clicked occasionally, the movement of her hands fluid as a dance. "I'm surprised you remember the house."

Mr. Bates looked at his work. "News travels. I wasn't working at the time, but I did hear about what happened there. Was it difficult...afterwards?"

"Was what difficult?" It was suddenly too warm, and Anna shifted away from the fire, scooting closer to the table with the ball of yarn in her lap. Her lungs felt full, like the weight of an egg in the palm of your hand.

"Well, it couldn't have been like losing his lordship's cousins. The boy was Lord Darlington's eldest son, wasn't he?"

Anna nodded. "It didn't affect the staff very much," she said. "Mayfield is such a large house. Even though I was head housemaid, I rarely saw the family. I only really knew Lady Eleanor, the daughter."

"It must have been dreadful for the family," Mr. Bates said, concentrating on his work.

"Yes, it was. Dreadful." She was much too warm. Mr. Bates looked up.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You're flushed."

Anna put a cool hand to her cheek. "I'm just close to the fire."

"Here, sit on this side." Clutching her knitting, Anna moved to the seat on the other side of him, away from the heat.

"Where were you before Downton?" she asked, desperate to change the subject. They both turned their heads at the sound of William and Betsy coming through from the servants' staircase.

"Who was at the door?" Mr. Bates asked.

"That's just it," William said. "It was an old friend of Mr. Carson's. They used to be in a double-act together. The Cheerful Charlies."

Betsy giggled. "Can you imagine that? Mr. Carson, on stage somewhere? Singing and dancing?"

"Does Mr. Carson wish this to be made public?" Mr. Bates asked, slightly amused.

William looked chastened, and Betsy stopped laughing. "No, I suppose not."

"Let's try and keep it to ourselves, then," Mr. Bates suggested.

"Yes, Mr. Bates," William said, and went back upstairs. Betsy found a feather duster and followed him.

Anna couldn't help smiling. "Poor Mr. Carson. We'll have to treat him like a god for a month to calm his nerves."

Mr. Bates chuckled. "He'll be afraid this'll change the way we think of him."

"Then we mustn't let it."

"Oh, but it will," he insisted. "'The Cheerful Charlies'?"

Now Anna did giggle.

"For all his talk of dignity, we know his story now."

"And admire him more because of it!" Anna added.

"Maybe, but it'll change the way we think of him. It always does."

Anna frowned. "I don't see why. I shouldn't care what I found out about you. Whatever it was, it wouldn't alter my opinion one bit."

"But it would," Mr. Bates said, a little more seriously. "It certainly would."

Anna picked up her knitting again, a whole set of worries blooming inside her.

* * *

Part Two

In mid-December they were blessed with another clear day, though this one was cold, winter now only a week away. But it was cloudless and bright, so after Gwen had made sure that each maid was set on a task, she headed into the village to post something. She'd asked if Anna wanted any of hers posted, but she hadn't, instead leaving her notebook and pencil on the desk so she wouldn't forget to write that evening. Frustrated by the fact that their spring clothing crowded the already small wardrobe in their room, Anna finished her work in the dining room and headed upstairs to rearrange things as best she could before lunch. She used her desk chair to reach the top of the wardrobe, but couldn't budge the large box next to the linen basket. When the door to their room opened and Gwen walked in, assuming it would be empty, Anna startled and gasped, almost falling from the chair.

"What're you doing?"

Anna sighed, catching her breath. "If you must know, I'm trying to find some space on top of here to make life easier."

Gwen walked in and pulled the door closed behind her, nervous, while Anna climbed off her chair.

"So what's in it, then?"

"What?" Gwen's misty green eyes darted to the top of the wardrobe.

"The bleeding great packing case that weighs a ton, that's what!"

Gwen shook her head slightly, glued to the spot. "Can't you just leave it?"

Anna sighed. The situation was making her uneasy. "No, I can't. And you'll tell me right now." Although Gwen was the head housemaid and they had both entered service at sixteen, Anna was three years older. She spoke to Gwen like a sister, but her tone was firm.

"All right," Gwen said, taking off her coat and laying it on her bed. Anna stood back and let Gwen use the chair to get to the case, watching her friend struggle to lift and remove it. She set the case on their small table and unbuckled it, revealing a machine affixed neatly to a square wooden board.

"Is that a typewriter?"

Gwen nodded.

"How much did it cost?"

"Every penny I'd saved. Almost."

Anna frowned a little, remembering the letters she'd caught Gwen trying to hide months ago. "Is this the mystery lover?"

Her friend finally looked her in the eyes. "Well, I've been taking a correspondence course in typing and shorthand," she said quietly, although Anna was sure they were alone. "That's what was in the envelopes."

Anna nodded. "Are you any good?"

Gwen smiled, shy but proud. "Yes. I am, actually."

They were suddenly interrupted at the sound of their door opening, and both turned their backs to the typewriter, hiding it from view as Miss O'Brien appeared in the doorway.

"There you are," she said to Anna. "Her ladyship wants the fawn skirt Lady Mary never wears. The seamstress is going to fit it to Lady Sybil, but I can't find it."

"I'll come in a minute," Anna said.

Miss O'Brien looked from one girl to the other. "They're waiting now."

"One minute. I'm just changing my cap and apron."

The Lady's Maid looked at them skeptically but said nothing, turned, and left. Anna shut the door behind her.

"Have you told anyone?" she asked. "What did your parents say?"

"I can't tell them till I've got a job," Gwen explained. "Dad will think I'm a fool to leave a good place, and Mum will say I'm getting above myself, but…" She shook her head. "But I don't believe that."

Anna put a hand on her friend's arm and squeezed. "Nor do I."

Gwen smiled. "You won't tell?"

Anna smirked. "' _Course_ I won't," she said. "Remember when I forgot to change the linens in the corner bedroom on the bachelor's corridor?"

Gwen sighed, relieved.

* * *

Miss O'Brien had left Lady Mary's wardrobe in a state after searching for the skirt, but Anna knew it had been stored in the bedroom's left closet since September, and located it easily. After taking it to Miss O'Brien to give to Lady Grantham, Anna returned to Lady Mary's room, wanting to put everything back in order before the evening. A half hour later she had rearranged the wardrobe and closets to her liking, even coming across pieces that could be mended or put away in the attics. She almost bumped into Mr. Bates as she left the room, clothing draped over her arm. He stepped back quickly to avoid colliding with her, and inhaled sharply.

"Sorry," Anna said, seeing him wince.

"I'm fine. Can I help you with those?"

She shook her head no. "I can manage." She watched him carefully. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly all right," he assured her. They walked the length of the corridor together.

"Do you think we'll have a white Christmas?"

She smiled. There hadn't yet been snow, but the sky threatened it almost every day with wooly clouds, the corners of window panes frosted over as if they'd been struck by a stone and nearly splintered. "I hope so. It would be pretty. Not that it would make much of a difference to us."

"I remember when I was a boy, playing with friends, snowball fights that left your hands numb," he said, holding the servants' door open for her. "I had a good arm, too."

"Well, I wasn't much for winter."

"Why?" He was curious, and maybe a little taken aback.

She smirked, leaning against the white wall before they went down. "If you must know, I fell through some ice when I was a little girl. It didn't leave a good impression." At the concerned expression on his face, she laughed. "There's no need to look so upset, Mr. Bates. Here I am, safe and sound."

A door somewhere below them opened, another servant on the stairs, and they started down.

"What does Downton do for Christmas?" she asked, not looking back as he followed her.

"I suppose it'll depend on the year," Mr. Bates said. "Last year Mr. Crawley and Mr. Patrick were here, along with some other cousins, and his lordship's sister, Lady Rosamund. There's work, like always, but we had our own celebration downstairs."

"That sounds nice."

"How was it at Mayfield?"

She opened her mouth, but heard his breath catch again behind her. She turned on the last step. He was pale, but reassured her with his eyes.

"Mr. Bates?"

"It's nothing," he said. "Just the old wound."

She held his gaze. "You'd tell me if you weren't well, wouldn't you?"

He nodded. "I would."

She held back a smile. "'Else I'll worry."

Seeming to have recovered, he stood up straight. "Well, we can't have that."

Anna turned and opened the door, and together they went through to the servants' hall. People were gathered in the dining room, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes among them.

"Wonder what all that's about," Mr. Bates said quietly as they approached the small crowd. Gwen came downstairs from clearing away lunch and joined Anna. Together they moved closer to see what all the fuss was about. Gwen's typewriter was on the table, unpacked from its case, and Anna's notebook sat beside it.

"What's that doing here?" Gwen asked.

Mrs. Hughes looked up. "Ah, Gwen," she said. "Come in."

"Why is that down here? Who's been in my room?" Gwen's voice was strained. She glanced quickly at Anna, who shook her head. Her own heart was racing. "They had no right!"

"See here," Mrs. Hughes said. "In the first place, none of the rooms in this house belong to you. And in the second, _I_ am in charge of your welfare, and that gives me _every_ right."

"This is _you_ , isn't it?" Anna said, looking at Miss O'Brien. Very rarely did she respond to any of the jabs Miss O'Brien sometimes directed at her, but in that moment she couldn't hold back.

"All we want is to know what Gwen wants with a typewriter and why she feels the need to keep it secret," Mr. Carson said.

"She wants to keep it private," Anna said, calming, "not secret. There's a difference."

Behind her, though it was quiet, Anna distinctly heard Mr. Bates say "Amen."

"I've done nothing to be ashamed of," Gwen said. "I've bought a typewriter and I've taken a postal course in shorthand. I'm not aware that either of these actions is illegal."

"Will you tell us why?" Mrs. Hughes asked. " _Preferably_ without any more cheek?"

Gwen paused, the tension in her shoulders loosening. "Because I want to leave service. I want to be a secretary."

Her words were met with silence from all the staff. Anna was seconds away from reaching forward, taking the notebook with its collection of letters tucked inside and stuffing it into the furnace. Only the clothing draped over her arm kept her from doing so.

"You want to leave service?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"What's wrong with being in service?" Miss O'Brien asked.

"Nothing's wrong with it," Gwen insisted, "and there's nothing wrong with mending roads, neither, but it's not what I want to do."

"I should remind you that there are plenty of young girls who would be glad of a position in this house," Mr. Carson said.

"And when I hand in my notice, I shall be happy to think that one of them will be taking my place." She was more confident now.

"What makes you think we'll wait till then?" Miss O'Brien said.

Anna bristled. "Are you hiring and sacking now, Miss O'Brien? I thought that lay with Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

"Enough of this," Mr. Carson said. "I'm going to ring the dressing gong, and we'll have no more talk of this tonight."

"Can I have my machine back now?"

"Very well. But I wish I were sure you know what you're doing."

Gwen went to take her machine while the others dispersed, save Miss O'Brien, who looked at Mrs. Hughes.

"What about her? What about what's in those papers?"

"Thank you, Miss O'Brien. I can manage on my own." Mrs. Hughes picked up the notebook, holding it to her chest, as the Lady's Maid left to sulk. Gwen headed back upstairs.

"Mrs. Hughes, I-"

"Anna, Miss O'Brien told me about what's in here," she said. "I haven't read them myself, they're yours."

"But-"

"All I can tell you is that whoever he is...you have to choose between him and your place here. If you keep promising to go back to him, I can't trust you to stay on at Downton." Mrs. Hughes touched her arm, giving it a little rub. "You're a good girl. If Gwen were to leave, I'd have thought of you to take her place, but you have to make a choice."

"I'm not going anywhere, Mrs. Hughes," Anna promised. "None of what I've written's been sent off. They're just silly letters. They don't mean anything."

Mrs. Hughes looked at her a moment longer, then handed her the notebook. "There." She glanced at the skirts Anna still held. "Now, give those to me. I'll take them to the mending room while you put that away."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes." Her voice was scratchy, her eyes stung. The clothing was transferred, and the housekeeper looked at her for a moment longer, then patted her arm.

"Off you go."

Anna nodded, then turned to leave. Mr. Bates was still standing near her. He'd heard everything, and looked at her differently than he normally did, his eyes faithful as a dog. It was as if something inside of him had turned its back on her, and the door left ajar to that hidden room had been reluctantly pulled closed, the light shut inside. Anna wanted to say something, to explain herself, but she couldn't lie to him, he'd see right through it.

"You should hurry," he said, his voice unchanged, like nothing had happened. He even smiled a little, and although she couldn't tell if it was forced, it put her at ease. At that moment the dressing gong rang, and Anna gathered herself up, going back to the staircase and hurrying up. She didn't know what she would do with the letters now that Miss O'Brien had read them. By tomorrow Thomas would know their contents, and he'd tell someone else. It wouldn't be long before the whole staff knew what Anna had been writing. She had to get rid of the notebook, the letters, as soon as possible, throw them away where no one could find them. The thought of not writing made her guts twist and her chest ache. In another world she would have wept. Instead she rushed to her room, tucked the notebook in the pillowcase, and went back down to dress Lady Mary.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super long, and I debated publishing it in two parts, but I figured long chapters are better than short chapters, plus there was a lot of show-dialogue in this chapter, so I didn't want it to be boring. I'm going to change the rating on this fic based on this chapter. The last section (after part two) contains graphic descriptions of violence, gore, and blood.

Part One

It came as no surprise to Anna when rumours about what was in her notebook began to circulate among the staff. Miss O'Brien had no doubt told Thomas, and together they'd fabricated a story as sensational as a romance novel. The real surprise was everyone else's reactions. Most of the footmen simply took the rumours as an unofficial reason why, out of all the maids, Anna was most certainly not the one to flirt with, a behaviour already frowned upon. The younger maids were too shy to linger on the topic and, as Gwen had instructed them, minded their own business, which meant pretending to not enjoy flirting with the footmen. Neither Mrs. Hughes nor Mr. Carson said anything more about the typewriter or the notebook. In any case, Christmas was around the corner. Much to the dismay of Miss O'Brien and Thomas, the staff cared more about making small presents for friends and family behind the closed doors of their rooms than they did about the contents of Anna's notebook, or the fact Gwen had a typewriter.

In the end, Mr. Bates got his white Christmas. The servants received gifts from the family (a light, floral-printed fabric for a new frock Anna knew she could make by springtime), and presents or letters from home. No one noticed when nothing arrived for Anna by post, as she accumulated a stack of homemade, neatly decorated cards from several of the staff, along with the traditional one given to everyone from Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes to congratulate them on their hard work throughout the year. Martha gave her a blue hair ribbon, and Gwen a beautifully embroidered handkerchief Anna deemed too pretty to use.

Anna made her own cards to distribute, and had even gone to the village for some small gifts. Martha got a plain sewing box, Betsy a new thimble, and Gwen a pair of olive green mittens. There was even time for some dancing as they all sat around the table after finishing their Christmas pudding.

"I wish I could dance like that," Daisy said wistfully, staring down at a book she'd received.

"Like what?" Thomas asked, exhaling smoke from his cigarette. Across from him, Anna coughed.

Daisy held up the book for them to examine the page.

"Don't you know the Grizzly Bear?"

Mr. Bates, sat next to Anna, leaning back with his arms crossed, chuckled. "The Grizzly Bear! As if you do."

"Certainly, I do," Thomas said, stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Miss O'Brien, shall we show them?"

The Lady's Maid, sulking since the fabric she'd received from Lady Grantham hadn't been a print she cared for, looked up. "Not likely."

Anna couldn't help laughing at the annoyed drawl in Miss O'Brien's voice.

"William, give us a tune," Thomas said. The younger footman stood from the table and went to the old piano, opening it and sitting. He played a jaunty melody they hadn't heard before, and Thomas got up, Daisy following. She looked like her wildest dream had come true. Anna turned to Mr. Bates, already laughing.

"I can't," she said, her hand already hovering to cover her mouth.

"Hands up," Thomas said, and Daisy mimicked him. They began the old fashioned dance, Thomas leading. The expression on Daisy's face along with the cliché dance only made them all laugh. Thomas growled, pretending to be the bear.

Anna couldn't stop giggling, and when she turned to check if Mr. Bates found it as amusing as she did, he was laughing as well. A footman started to clap in time to the music, and everyone still sat at the table followed suit. Even Miss O'Brien in her chair at the edge of the room held back a smile at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Daisy!" Mrs. Patmore called, but either the kitchen maid wasn't listening, or there was too much noise to hear over. "Daisy!" Mrs. Patmore called, now in the doorway. Daisy and Thomas stopped dancing, and William's song ended mid-verse, along with the rhythmic clapping. "Stop that silly nonsense before you put your joints out! See to the range, and go to bed."

Daisy turned to Thomas and, with reverence, said, "Thank you. That was beautiful," then ran off to the kitchens. Thomas took a small bow, and everyone clapped again good-naturedly. It was Christmas, after all. When the room had settled, others peeling away to go to bed, Bates chuckled one last time.

"I remember dancing that."

Anna smiled. "You never did!"

He nodded, eyes twinkling. "I did."

"Who was the lucky girl?"

"Her name was Alice," he said, amused at Anna's interest.

"How old were you?"

He thought back. "Probably nine or ten."

Anna laughed merrily.

* * *

By March all the snow they'd gotten since Christmas had melted away, the green of spring beginning to show in the trees and gardens. Anna learned that a family acquaintance, a Mr. Evelyn Napier, was to stay at Downton the night of the York and Ainsty hunt. The idea appeared to have originated from Lady Mary, but it was Lady Grantham who informed her daughters, while Anna was dressing the eldest, that it would not only be Mr. Napier coming to stay. He was bringing with him a Turkish ambassador who was in England for the Albanian Talks at the London Conference. Anna had heard something about it from Mr. Bates, who always read the paper.

On the day of the hunt the whole staff was abuzz with talk of Mr. Napier and his handsome friend. Everyone, including Lady Mary, had set off early in the morning, causing some chaos in the kitchen. All Anna had managed to eat was some bread with butter and a spoonful of porridge before they'd all been chased away. She was still upstairs tidying after readying Lady Mary for the hunt when she heard a loud wince from the hall outside. Carefully closing the closet, she went to investigate.

"Mr. Bates?"

He was leaning against the wall, clearly in agony.

"Are you all right?" She'd noticed an increasing severity in these spontaneous moments of pain.

"Yes," he said, straightening up. His expression returned to a neutral one. "Don't worry."

He was pale. She looked doubtful. "Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing, truly. I've twisted my bad leg and walked on it too soon. It'll be fine in a day or two."

"When was this?"

"Not long ago."

She put her hands on her hips. "This began before Christmas, if I remember correctly."

"Just occasional twinges, that's all," he reassured her. "You'll see. It'll be fine in a day or two."

"Well, if it isn't, I'm telling Mrs. Hughes to send for the doctor," Anna warned.

"It already feels better. I just needed a rest."

She sighed, her hands falling to her sides. "You're a stubborn man, Mr. Bates."

He smirked. "That, I am."

* * *

The night drew itself out like an uncomfortable conversation, and after Lady Mary had finally been dressed for bed, the whole time chatting about the handsome and charming Turkish ambassador, Mr. Pamuk, and how it was a shame he had to leave so soon for the Conference, Anna was exhausted. The letter she'd slipped in her pocket after lunch felt like a stone, a constant reminder she would have to wait until even Gwen had fallen asleep to read it.

When she made it upstairs, however, she found Gwen already in bed, turned to the wall, burrowed in the sheets. Anna undressed and changed quietly. She watched herself in the mirror as she removed the pins from her hair. It fell past her shoulders, slightly wavy from being twisted and wrapped at the back of her head all day. She'd always liked her hair. Running her fingers through it, her hands looked like they were playing with sunlight. Sometimes, while dressing one of the girls, Anna saw herself briefly in their mirror. Her own face, plain in comparison, would easily be lost in a crowd, but she had the lightest hair in the house. She was just another housemaid who could be easily overlooked, but at least she had one distinguishing feature. After braiding it, she tied her hair with the blue ribbon Martha had given her, and was about to take the candle and bring it to her bedside table with the letter when she heard sniffling from the other side of the room.

"Gwen?"

The sniffling stopped abruptly, but Anna saw the girl's shoulders shaking. She took the candle and went to Gwen's bed, setting it on the table beside them. Sitting, she put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

Gwen turned over, her eyes puffy and red, her nose pink. She must have been crying before Anna had come in.

"Whatever's the matter?"

Gwen shook her head a little. "Oh, I'm just being silly."

Anna sighed. "It's just me. What is it?"

Gwen sniffed and slowly sat up, her own hair, neatly braided, falling over one shoulder. She wiped at her cheeks.

"Well, I suppose I've just realised that it's not going to happen," she said at last.

"What isn't?"

"Oh, none of it," Gwen said, almost crying, then lowered her voice. "I'm not going to be a secretary. I'm not going to leave service. I doubt I'll leave here before I'm _sixty_."

"Hey," Anna said softly, scooting into bed beside her, "what's all this?"

"You saw their faces. And they're right." She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her nightgown. "Oh, look at me! I'm the daughter of a farmhand. I'm lucky to be a maid. I was born with nothing, and I'll die with nothing."

Anna frowned. "Don't talk like that," she said. "You can change your life if you want to. Sometimes you have to be hard on yourself, but you can change it _completely_."

Gwen looked at her. "Oh, what do _you_ know?"

Anna was almost offended, but knew her friend was only upset. "I was miserable for a long time at my last place, but I finally left. I got out. And now I'm here." She wrapped an arm around Gwen. " _And_ I've got you. We've got each other."

Gwen smiled, comforted.

"Only you have to promise to write to me once you're in your new position," Anna said. "I won't have you running off into the wind."

"I will," Gwen promised. She looked up. "What about your letter from this morning? Have you read it?"

Anna shook her head and removed her arm from around Gwen's shoulders.

"Well go on, then," Gwen encouraged.

Even though she would have preferred to open it in private, Anna slipped out of the bed and went to her desk. The letter was just as small and thin as the last one. Now she sat on her own bed and opened the envelope, carefully taking the letter out. Gwen was quiet while Anna scanned it.

"The same as last time?"

Anna nodded, folded the paper, and slid it back in its envelope. "It's all right."

"I wish you'd tell me what was the matter, Anna."

Anna smiled easily. "There's nothing anyone can do. Just wait."

* * *

It seemed no time had passed between falling asleep and the moment she was woken from it, a cold hand suddenly covering her mouth. Anna startled awake and, in the darkness, saw Lady Mary leaning over her, the moonlight leaking in through the window illuminating her ivory skin and white gown. She looked desperately down at Anna, her eyes wide and frightened, and held a finger to her lips. With the other hand, she beckoned for Anna to follow her out of the room.

In the women's quarters, with bedroom doors off to every side, they couldn't afford to speak in voices any louder than the smallest whisper. Lady Mary wasn't used to thin walls.

"It's Mr. Pamuk," she said, and Anna shh'd her sharply without thinking.

"Beg pardon, milady," she whispered quickly.

Lady Mary shook her head that it didn't matter.

"He's dead," Lady Mary whispered. Anna's stomach dropped. "I think he's dead. No, I'm _sure_ he's dead."

"But h-how?"

"We were together and... he's dead."

"In _your_ room?"

Lady Mary looked at her for a moment, still panicked, before her face crumpled and she held a hand over her mouth to cover any noise that could escape if she were to start weeping. She seemed at the same time ashamed, remorseful, and heartbroken. Anna, already shaken from being pulled from whatever dream she'd been having, was having trouble not panicking herself. She took a conscious breath, forcing her heart to slow and her brain to think rationally.

"We've got to get him back to his own bed."

"But how?" Lady Mary asked. "It's in the bachelor's corridor -miles from my room!"

"Could we manage it between us?"

"He weighs a ton. I can hardly shift him at all. We'll need at least one other." She paused for a moment. "What about Bates?"

"He couldn't lift him." She thought of the others. "William can't keep a secret, and Thomas wouldn't try to."

"We've got to do _something_!"

"Shh!" Anna scanned the corridor, terrified someone would open their door at any moment to tell off young scullery maids whispering after hours. She turned back to Lady Mary. "Then who else has as much to lose as you if it ever gets out?"

"Not Papa. Please, don't say Papa. I couldn't bear the way he'd look at me."

"No," Anna said. "Not his lordship."

* * *

Waiting in the hall outside Lord and Lady Grantham's bedroom, Anna only heard a confused mumbling from her ladyship and some rustling of the sheets before Lady Mary came back out, followed by her mother. Lady Grantham's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Anna?" She looked at the blonde housemaid, shivering and nervous in her simple nightgown. "What are you doing here?"

"I went for her, Mama. Please, come with me. Hurry."

They followed Lady Mary down the hall, turned the corner, and continued on to her room. When the door opened the light from a single candle left burning cast them all in a rosy glow, radiating off the warm red wallpaper. In the bed among the twisted sheets, shocking but not horrible to see, was the naked, half covered body of Mr. Pamuk. Just a body now that he could no longer be counted among the living. Lady Grantham gasped, and Anna quickly shut the door so their voices wouldn't be heard. At least here they had thick walls meant to preserve warmth, as well as privacy.

"What happened to him?" her ladyship asked, her voice trembling.

"I don't know. A heart attack, I suppose, or a stroke..." Lady Mary said, again distressed. "He was alive, and suddenly he cried out, and then he was dead!"

Lady Grantham couldn't take her eyes off her daughter. "But why was he here at all? Did he force himself on you?"

Anna kept her eyes on Lady Mary, her heart pounding at the thought. He must have, she thought, but remembered the emotions that had briefly washed over Lady Mary's face upstairs. Gone was the coolness, slightly haughty mannerisms, and sarcastic tone she used while Anna was dressing her. The Lady Mary she saw during the day had disappeared almost completely, replaced by a frightened and vulnerable girl faced with a task no one ever expected would befall them. Lady Mary shook her head.

Lady Grantham looked as if she might faint. "Well," she said, "we can talk about that later. Now, we must decide what to do for the best."

A servant was never supposed to voice an opinion unless expressly asked to do so. Even greeting an employer with "Good morning" was technically against the rules, as it was an assumption the day would begin well. The greeting could be returned, but rarely directed. A certain intimacy had to be well-established before a servant could ever speak out of turn, especially to the lady of the house. Lady Mary's eyes darted to Anna.

"There's only one thing we can do," Anna said, her shoulders tense.

Lady Grantham shook her head. "I couldn't. It's not possible."

"If you don't," Lady Mary said, "we will figure in a scandal of such magnitude it would never be forgotten until long after we're both dead. I'll be ruined, Mama!" Now came tears. "Ruined and notorious. A laughingstock, a social pariah! Is that what you want for your eldest daughter? Is it what you want for the family?"

Lady Grantham considered this while the clock ticked by. One. Two. Three.

"We must cover him up," she said at last.

It took what felt like monumental effort even to shift the man's body, much less to keep him covered in a sheet to preserve whatever modesty any of them had left. Anna and Lady Grantham ended up with each of his arms around their necks while Lady Mary carried his feet, keeping the bulk of his weight up and off the floor. As they walked through the corridors Anna thought they could have managed to move him, just the two of them, had they dragged him by the arms. But the flesh was still slightly warm, still smelling like a perfectly healthy man. It was difficult to think of him as a body yet. A thing to drag along the floor.

After what seemed like ages, they finally reached his room. A candle still burned here, too, providing them with light as they swung him sloppily into his own bed. Lady Grantham removed the sheet from around Mr. Pamuk where they'd attempted to cover him up. Anna stood by Lady Mary as she tried to close the man's eyes.

"I can't make his eyes stay shut," Lady Mary said.

"Leave that, and come away!" Lady Grantham whispered sharply.

"He was so beautiful."

Ignoring the social codes, knowing that with the shock of the night's events Lady Grantham couldn't be counted on to provide any comfort, Anna gently placed her hands on Lady Mary's shoulders.

"Her ladyship's right. We must get back to our rooms."

After one last moment Lady Mary nodded and turned, Anna following, and crossed the room back to her mother standing by the door. The candle burned low beside them on a shelf.

Lady Grantham's face showed unapologetic disappointment. "I feel now that I can never forgive what you have put me through this night. I hope in time I will come to be more merciful. But I doubt it."

"You won't tell Papa?"

"Since it would probably kill him, and _certainly_ ruin his life, I will not. But I keep the secret for his sake, _not_ yours."

Lady Mary bowed her head in resignation. "Yes, Mama." 

"Anna," Lady Grantham said, handing over Lady Mary's sheets to be sent to the laundry, "I will not insult you by asking that you also conceal Lady Mary's shame."

Anna nodded, knowing she would never tell a soul. She was good with secrets.

"Let us go," Lady Grantham said, opening the door. As they walked out, Anna leaned over to blow out the candle, leaving the room in darkness; holding, for a few more hours, the secret of death.

* * *

Part Two

Anna couldn't stomach any breakfast. She'd gone to bed late after comforting Gwen, and didn't know what time she'd been woken by Lady Mary. In any case, she hadn't slept afterwards, instead padding silently up the servants' staircase in bare feet, letting herself back into her room and laying in her bed until she heard Daisy knocking on doors to wake everyone. Even though she heard the knock approaching, she still jumped when it came. Her eyes were already burning at the edges from lack of sleep by the time she made it to the servants' dining table, and all she managed to consume was a small glass of water.

"You all right, Anna?" William asked, watching her from across the table as she pushed porridge around. She nodded and waited for Lady Mary to ring which she did, and earlier than usual. Anna doubted she had gotten much sleep, either, as she went to bring her a cup of tea. She could linger on the staircase on her way back down. Thomas, delivering tea to Mr. Pamuk, would soon discover the body, and she didn't want to be near anyone when the news broke.

Lady Mary was wide awake and sitting up in bed, her knees pulled to her chest under the sheets when Anna knocked quietly and slipped inside.

"Oh, Anna," Lady Mary said instead of a morning greeting. Anna put the cup of tea on the small table beside the bed, but Lady Mary didn't so much as glance at it. "I didn't sleep a wink."

"Nor did I, milady."

Lady Mary's face crumpled again. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry, milady." She watched Lady Mary wiping at her tears with shaky fingers and went to the vanity desk, taking a handkerchief back to her.

"Thank you," Lady Mary said softly, wiping at her eyes. Anna didn't know if it was code for what had transpired the night before, or if she was simply being thanked for fetching the handkerchief.

She hesitated before speaking while Lady Mary composed herself, twisting her hands a little. "Milady, I hope you know... I won't say anything to anyone."

Lady Mary chuckled darkly. "God knows what you must think of me."

"We all make mistakes."

"Some are larger than others," Lady Mary argued.

Anna said nothing. "Are you going down for breakfast, milady? Or would you like a tray?"

"I should go down, I think."

"Then you'll ring again?"

Lady Mary nodded.

* * *

When Anna opened the door to the servants' hall it was like walking through a curtain of memory. Almost exactly a year ago she had come downstairs and learned the sad fate of the Titanic. There had been tears, shocked expressions, and disbelief. A year ago there had been nothing tangible to prove the sinking besides newspaper headlines and a telegram. Now there was concrete evidence of Pamuk's death -his cold body, found by Thomas only minutes ago. News traveled fast, and already there were young maids weeping at the unexpected death of the handsome foreigner.

"Did you hear?" Betsy asked when Anna sat at the dining table.

"What?"

"Mr. Pamuk. He died last night. Thomas found him." Her eyes were wide.

"That's terrible," Anna said, mustering all the surprise she had left.

Luckily, the morning passed quickly, with Anna throwing herself into all the work she could find, whether it was needlessly tidying already clean rooms, vigorously polishing Lady Mary's shoes in the boot room, or secluding herself in the mending room instead of working at the table. By the time they all sat down to lunch she was done in. She eyed her steamed vegetables and buttered bread dubiously.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Mr. Bates asked quietly, beside her. "You didn't have any breakfast."

Annoyed at the way he seemed to notice everything she did, Anna stabbed two green beans and took a bite. The smallest taste of food made her feel more awake, but she wasn't hungry. She ate slowly, sipping water and taking pauses to breathe.

"I had an uncle who went like that," William said from down the table. "Finished his cocoa, closed his book, and fell back dead on the pillow."

"I don't think Mr. Pamuk bothered with cocoa much. Or books. He had other interests," Thomas said, sounding oddly blasé about the whole thing.

"I meant you can go just like _that_ ," William snapped his fingers, "with no reason."

"That's why you should treat every day as if it were your last," Gwen said.

"Well, we couldn't criticise Mr. Pamuk where that's concerned," Thomas said in the same voice.

Martha looked up from her meal. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, deep in thought, before Thomas spoke again.

"Didn't something like this happen at another estate?"

Anna took a bite of bread, her eyes on her plate.

"It did," Thomas continued. "At Mayfield Hall. Around five years ago now, wasn't it? You remember, Mr. Carson?"

The butler's expression didn't change. "Can't say that I do."

"That's not where you worked, is it, Anna?" William asked.

She nodded. "Yes, it was."

"Lord Darlington's son, wasn't it? Alexander Egerton. Dead in his bed." Thomas took a sip of water. "A maid found him." He looked at Anna.

"It's nowt to do with me," she said defensively.

Mr. Carson put down his cutlery. "We'll have no more of this sort of talk at table. Thomas, we've heard quite enough from you."

"I was only trying to make conversation," Thomas said.

"Even so."

The meal continued for an interminably long ten minutes before Daisy was summoned in to clear. As they stood from the table Anna felt Mr. Bates' eyes on her.

"Anna?"

She knew from the way he said her name what question was coming next, so she shook her head. "Before you ask, nothing's wrong," she said quickly, then brushed past him, heading upstairs to change for the afternoon.

* * *

She took over the task of carrying Lady Sybil's freshly laundered clothing upstairs instead of making the laundry maids, already overworked with dirty linens from last night's guests in addition to the usual load, haul everyone's clean clothing to the respective bedrooms. Once everything was neatly put away, she wiped her clean hands on her apron and left Lady Sybil's room, shutting the door behind her. On her way down the hall she saw Lord Grantham walking in her direction, presumably having just finished dressing in some outerwear to go outside. She bowed her head, intending to make herself as unnoticeable as possible.

"Ah, Anna."

She dipped a quick curtsy.

"I wonder if…" He lowered his voice. "Would you find Mrs. Hughes?"

"Of course, milord."

"I'm worried about Bates. I would appreciate it if she could check up on him. Make sure he's all right."

"Where is Mr. Bates now, your lordship?"

"He was in my dressing room," Lord Grantham said. "He should still be tidying up."

"Very good, milord."

"Thank you, Anna," he said, then continued on.

She stood still, debating whether to fetch Mrs. Hughes or to see Mr. Bates herself. Concern won out over protocol, so she continued down the hall, turned the corner, and walked at a brisk pace to Lord Grantham's dressing room. There she found Mr. Bates bracing himself against the wooden foot of the small bed, grimacing in what appeared to be agony. She stepped inside, shut the door behind her, and crossed her arms. Mr. Bates immediately straightened up, but wasn't completely able to conceal his discomfort.

"Mr. Bates, you're clearly not all right," she said. "You haven't been for months, and I won't have any more excuses about a twisted leg. I'm not leaving until you tell me what's truly the matter."

He gave her a strained smile, amused at her determination, which cracked her attempt at a fierce demeanour.

"I mean it, Mr. Bates." She waited a moment. "Go on."

He looked torn, and perhaps embarrassed, but went to sit on the chair by the wall nearest to her. She shifted her posture to face him. Mr. Bates watched her.

"I hope you have a strong stomach."

She raised her chin, trying to appear tougher than she looked.

He reached down and carefully began to raise the right leg of his trousers. With each inch of skin revealed the truth became more gruesome. Some sort of metal device had been affixed to his leg, held on by bands of curved metal that seemed to be drilled into place beneath his knee. These were bracketed by two straight rods that disappeared down into his shoe. She had never seen anything like it. The places where the piece of equipment pushed into his skin were red and bloody, his whole leg mottled with bruises old and new.

He looked at her, ashamed. She was so tired from all that had happened she couldn't control her reaction as much as she might have wished. Some tears gathered in her eyes, but that only seemed to make him more upset, so she quickly wiped them away, staunching herself.

"Well, first things first, you'll take that thing off right now."

"I can't. It's a limp corrector."

She sighed. "Mr. Bates, that is a torture device that'll only make your leg worse. Surely you can see that."

"It just takes time," he argued.

"I'm going to find Mrs. Hughes, and she'll send for the doctor."

"No."

She dropped her arms. "Then let me help."

His eyes smiled. "How can you help?"

"By getting some warm towels and bandages, to start with. I won't have you made lame because of this."

"I'm already lame."

"Don't be so dramatic," she scolded lightly. "Stay here and take that off. I'll be back in a minute."

* * *

The limp corrector was much larger than she'd imagined. After she'd returned with some rudimentary first aid supplies and relocated them to a guest bedroom where they were less likely to be disturbed, she realised it must have gone all the way up Mr. Bates' leg with just enough room to allow for limited flexibility of the knee and ankle. The worst of the wounds, he assured her, were those on his lower leg, so she set about carefully cleaning each one with warm water and a towel, which turned pink with blood lifted from on and around each blister or fresh injury. She'd found a small tube of ointment and applied it where she could, sitting on the floor and working in non-judgemental silence the whole time. It was only when she had finished and was folding the small towels that she spoke.

"Mr. Bates."

"Hmm?"

She cleared her throat. "You must promise never to do something foolish like this again."

He watched her patiently, now standing with the materials tucked under her arm. "You don't understand."

"Then tell me."

Mr. Bates struggled to find his words, then looked up at her. "I went through my whole life a healthy man, and then, one day, I was suddenly injured in a war. Perhaps if I had been in another place, a few feet away, it would have been someone else instead of me. Or, better yet, no one. Then, with one blow, my life is altered forever." The stupid limp corrector lay on the floor next to him like a witness. "I can't run, I can't join in a sport or dance even if I wanted to. It's not like being short, or-" Anna stood up straighter, and he smiled, "or being born blind. Something that will never change. I know what it's like to have it the other way, and I'd do almost anything to have that back."

Anna's eyes softened. "I understand better than you give me credit for." She bent to pick up the corrector, then held her hand out to him. "Now, come on. We're going to give this thing a proper burial. There's still time before Mr. Carson rings the gong."

* * *

They walked slowly to the pond on the west grounds, low and peaceful, with untended marsh grasses all around. A breeze tickled the surface, and with the sun overhead the water glittered like freshly minted coins while they stood at the edge. Anna handed Mr. Bates the limp corrector. He looked at a moment longer, then moved to throw it out into the pond like they'd planned.

"Do you think we ought to say a few words?"

Mr. Bates smiled ruefully. "What? 'Good riddance'?"

"That, and your promise."

"Very well," he said, surprising her with his willingness. "I promise I will never again try to cure myself. I will spend my life happily as the butt of others' jokes, and I will never mind them."

Anna smiled gently, satisfied. "We all carry scars, Mr. Bates -inside or out. You're no different than the rest of us. Remember that."

"I will try to. That, I promise." He aimed at some invisible point in front of him and prepared to throw the device out. "I have a good arm," he said, and flung the thing out.

"Good riddance!" Anna said as the water took the limp corrector, throwing shattered liquid arms up from the surface, then bubbling as the device sunk to the bottom. She turned back to Mr. Bates, who was looking at her intently. Any easy expression she wore disappeared.

"Now that I've promised you, you need to tell me what's wrong."

"Wrong?"

"You didn't eat, you've avoided everyone all morning...Is it Mr. Pamuk's death?"

She shook her head.

He sighed. "I didn't think so."

Anna looked up at him, feeling very small.

"Thomas just likes to meddle. You mustn't take what he says to heart."

"But you see, he's right," she said quickly. "I don't know how on _earth_ he knows. A maid did find Mr. Alexander."

"Yes, but if it wasn't you then it-"

"It _was_ me!" The words felt as if they'd been shot straight through her chest, like the door to a cage wrenched open by some saviour, setting all the trapped birds free. " _I_ was the maid!" She was so exhausted from everything, from helping Lady Mary return the body of Mr. Pamuk to his own bed, from pretending to be surprised, but the real ache behind it all was almost reliving the events from all those years ago. No one was supposed to know how she'd found Mister Alexander except Lord Darlington. The young man's death had been ruled a fluke heart attack by a well-paid doctor, and those assigned to take care of the room after the young man's death must have been, as well, for not a word of any of it circulated among the staff ignorant to what had happened. Which meant there was one other who knew at least some of what had happened that night. Thomas had it wrong, but not all of it.

Mr. Bates seemed unbothered. "All right. You found him." When Anna felt her chin start to tremble, tears not far behind, his face changed. The hand not on his cane fluttered as if he wanted to anchor it on her somewhere, but he clenched his fist and brought the hand down to his side. "What's so terrible about that?"

She coughed a little into her hand, covering what could have turned into a sob. She felt like tightly spun wool. "Nothing," she said finally, taking the handkerchief he offered her and wiping her eyes. "It's just that no one was supposed to know. How could Thomas have possibly found out?"

Mr. Bates looked confused. "Anna, when the news gets out about Mr. Pamuk the newspapers will surely say he was found dead in his room. Some might even say he was found by a footman. That doesn't implicate Thomas. Although you never know…" He cracked a smile, but she didn't return it. As his voice trailed off, she was struck with a terrible thought.

"You don't think that _I_ -"

"Of course not," he insisted, then smiled. "Silly girl."

Anna sighed in relief. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"No." He still appeared somewhat amused by her distress, but she didn't blame him. He didn't know all of it.

* * *

Both Lady Mary and Lady Grantham took trays in their rooms that night, claiming fatigue. Not wanting to sit and dwell on the events of the day, and calmed after speaking with Mr. Bates, Anna offered to help Thomas and William clear away after the family's dinner. She was behind Thomas, walking downstairs with the tablecloth and napkins in her arms to take to the laundry, when he turned around abruptly before opening the door to the servants' hall.

"I just remembered something else," he said, though she knew from his tone he was lying. He'd clearly been waiting for this moment all day.

"What?"

"The maid who found Egerton. They say her hands were covered in blood."

"Who's 'they'?" Anna asked. Her throat felt raw as freshly cut wood.

Thomas raised his eyebrow. "What's it to you, if it's nowt to do with you?"

She opened her mouth to respond just as the door was pulled open from inside by Mr. Carson, who jumped when he saw them standing there.

"Is everything in order?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Thomas said.

"Then what, may I ask, are you two doing in the stairwell?"

They said nothing, and Mr. Carson sighed. "Anna, give those to Martha to take to the laundry. Thomas, his lordship is leaving for London tomorrow on the ten o'clock train. Go upstairs and see if Mr. Bates needs any help with the cases."

* * *

_Mayfield Hall, 1908_

Anna had never been in the house this late, with the family all asleep, or at least in their respective bedrooms. Lady Darlington and the younger children were at the London house for a week before continuing on to see their cousins, and it had been so quiet without the children running through rooms, the little boys engaging in mock sword fights on the lawn. It felt similar to the early hours of the morning, only there was no shy sunrise as she passed the large windows that looked out and across the grounds, seeing only a flash of her own reflection mottled by the panes. Instead winter moonlight touched the spindly branches of the bare trees below, and in the darkness they appeared as bony hands reaching up from the cold, wet earth like the wrongly buried.

Mrs. Munsey wasn't sure the small library had been properly attended to, and Anna had been sent alone to check that the curtains had indeed been drawn, the embers swept, and all books put in their places before she went up to the servants' quarters. With a candle in hand, the house itself didn't frighten her. After two years Mayfield was as familiar as rain, with its secret attic passageways and endless rooms. The small library, when she finally reached it, had already been shut for the day. Anna had to wave the candle out a bit in front of her to scan the tables for anything out of place, since the curtains were already drawn. As she turned to leave, her candle fell from its holder. The noise was muffled by the carpet, but in the dark Anna couldn't tell if melted wax had also landed there, and crouched down, finding the candle and feeling for droplets of hot wax. It would have to wait till morning. She didn't want to go up two more floors for a new candle only to come back and find nothing.

There was enough moonlight to get to the servants' staircase at the end of the long corridor that stretched out in front of her outside the small library, but she hurried along all the same, less at ease without the help of a candle, though she still had its holder. As she passed Mister Alexander's room, she heard a strange sound. A sort of choked rasping, the kind you hear just before vomiting. Later, Anna wouldn't remember how she'd rationalised checking inside the room when she could have just as easily continued on to the staircase, not twenty feet away. Perhaps she'd known something wasn't quite right as she decided to peer through the gap in the door where warm light leaked out, casting a long slit of gold across the hall like a pointed finger. There was a strangled noise, a thump, and she looked inside.

At first she would have judged the grown brothers to be wrestling, but it soon became obvious, when Master Edward raised his head, shaking his dark hair out of his face, that this fight wouldn't end in bruised limbs. Blood sprinkled the young man's nightshirt as he straddled his older brother, and as his right hand pulled back she saw the glint of a blade peeking out, the fingers gripping it shiny with blood. Without thinking, she pushed the door back, rushing in.

"Stop!" she cried. "Master Edward, please, stop it!"

He looked up, slightly startled at the intrusion but, though clearly aware of her presence, didn't seem to really see her. There was that look he sometimes had just before being hurriedly taken away by Mr. Evans, his personal tutor. The look he had before the doctor was sent for. He shook his head. Beneath him, on the four-poster bed, his brother continued to make that horrible sound.

Anna moved further into the room, feeling feverish and jittery, while he crouched over his brother, the metal still in his hand, though he didn't move. "Master Edward, you must s-stop it," she said, her voice trembling. "We'll fetch the doctor."

"Ed," Mister Alexander managed to choke out. "Please."

Master Edward lunged forward again with a grunt, and even as she turned to run she heard the dull squish and groan as he made contact.

Leaving the door thrown open wide behind her, she ran through the house drenched in inky darkness. Down the hall the way she'd come, around the corner, left turn, down that corridor, until she reached the master bedroom. Not bothering to knock, she opened the door, went to the bed, and shook the sleeping form.

"Wake up!"

Lord Darlington grunted a little.

"Oh, God, please, wake up!"

The man grumbled into wakefulness. She made out the whites of his eyes, the shadow of a confused wrinkle between them. His hand searched the air, grabbing at her white apron, making sure she wasn't a ghost.

"Please, you must come at once, milord," she continued in a strained voice. "It's Master Edward, he's-"

Lord Darlington was instantly alert. He stood from the bed somewhat sloppily, bracing his hand on her shoulder. "Where is he? What happened?"

"In Mister Alexander's room. Please, come," she gasped. And then they were off again, Lord Darlington pulling her with him by the wrist as they stumbled and ran through the house with no light. Her breath came quickly, she was sure she would vomit by the time they reached Mister Alexander's room, where they were bathed in light.

The blood. More than she'd seen in her life. On the bed, glistening on Master Edward's hands as Lord Darlington yelled for him to stop, then rushed forward, pulling his younger son off the heir. While they struggled on one side of the room, the dark haired man flailing and speaking nonsense, Anna automatically went to the bed, where Mister Alexander lay, breathing shallowly. There was so much blood, the room smelled of rust, she could taste it.

"Mister Alexander?" she asked, putting a hand on his cheek. There were too many wounds, bright red roses of blood blooming across the white cotton of his nightshirt, to concentrate on one. Staring intently into his eyes, she saw the life fading away from him.

"Don't let my boy die!" Lord Darlington cried out, his voice breaking, still grappling with his other son. Anna climbed on the bed, hands trembling in the air before one settled on the side of his throat that was punctured, pressing there. She didn't know what else to do. The instant she placed it her hand was covered in warm blood, which continued to seep through her fingers as she cupped the man's cheek in her left palm. He gurgled, as if he wanted to say something, but it only made more blood flow. The way he looked at her made the terror of it all melt away to some distant part of the world. Knowing, in a single instant, that her face would be the last thing he saw on earth, made her start to cry.

"Please, Mister Alexander, h-hold on."

The fingers of his right hand brushed against the black fabric of her dress as a baby grips its nurse's shirt, and she quickly moved her own from his cheek down to thread her thin fingers, the nails already stained dark, through his. He squeezed. The sound of a violent punch, the vibration as someone fell, and she looked up from Mister Alexander to see Lord Darlington nursing a sore fist, his son on the floor.

"He-" She looked down at Lord Darlington's heir, at his vacant face. Nothing behind his light eyes, no grip in the hand she held in hers. Anna started sobbing, her hands coming to hide her face as the horror set in. She remembered being roughly tugged off and away from the bed by the distraught father and falling to the ground at the foot of it. Choking and blinded by tears, she tried to crawl away, only to find herself vomiting once, twice, onto the carpet, its intricate swirls. Lord Darlington sobbing behind her, and when she wiped her face with her apron, blood and sick soaking through, she saw Master Edward curled on the floor, unconscious. In the middle of the floor, splayed open, was an elegant pair of barber scissors, the metal blades glinting with murder.

After breathing shallowly on the floor for several minutes, she struggled to her feet again, turning to look at the bed, where Lord Darlington was half cradling his sandy-haired son, a fallen Apollo. He saw her and shifted his dead child, stood suddenly, and grabbed her by the arms before she could move.

"You will not speak of this to anyone," he said, voice raw with grief, "do you understand?"

She nodded.

He shook her. His hands, though they held her as tightly as a lifeline, shook. Tears flowing from his anguished eyes. "Do you understand? No one!"

She nodded again, her face crumpling. "Yes, milord, I understand."

Lord Darlington looked at her with a desperation, a heartbreak so intense she almost looked away, but he was still gripping her arms. "My son is mad."

She wept a little at that, and he shook her again, not violently, needing someone, _anyone_ , to listen to the awful truth. "My son is mad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continued interest in this story! Let me know what you think! I'm also on tumblr as scullyeffect, and I've been searching for the Downton fandom that used to be pretty big back in the day, but I can't seem to locate it. If you come over from here, send me a message so I can follow you!


	6. Chapter VI

As little as possible was said about what Mr. Carson referred to as the 'Pamuk Incident' after the newspapers had finished running their juicy headlines. Life returned to normal relatively quickly, and the arrival of spring raised everyone's spirits considerably after the dark mornings and swift sunsets of winter. In April, James and Patrick Crawley were again mourned. The date also marked a year since Anna had arrived at Downton. In May, while in the village, she passed The Grantham Arms and remembered the night before she'd walked up to the house for the first time. That long train ride, the wretched rain, her dress draped over a chair in front of the fireplace as she attempted to dry it for the morning. The fear simmering under her quietly confident exterior as she waited in the hall, hearing Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson debate whether or not to hire her. Knowing she had nowhere else to go.

She was about to leave the post office after posting her letter when the door opened, a little bell announcing the presence of a new customer.

"Anna?"

"Mr. Bates! What are you doing here?"

"Mailing a letter," he said, amused, "What else is there to do at a post office?"

She smiled quickly, feeling flustered. "I -I'll wait outside."

When, after a few minutes, he reemerged, she had regained her calm demeanour.

"I could have posted that for you," she said.

"I didn't know you were spending your half-day in the village. And I needed the walk."

She glanced at his leg. "And are you feeling better?"

He smirked. "I keep telling you, I'm fine."

After a moment, her concerned frown slipped into a smile. "Then you're all right to walk back with me?"

"You're not taking the rest of the morning?"

She shook her head, and they crossed the street together. "Not when the girls are about to leave for London. I need to go over everything they plan on wearing, and I haven't even started on Lady Sybil's things."

They walked leisurely towards the centre square, where a travelling fair was being set up. Village children watched in excitement on the grass, one boy's hands clasped together near his chest, blue eyes wide and expectant. It was a beautiful day; the leaves on the trees dancing in the sunlight, the sky clear and blue, the air as soft as milk.

"When does it open?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." Anna had read the colourful posters around the village all morning. "We could get up a party, if Mrs. Hughes lets us, and come down after we've had our dinner."

"It doesn't come often," he agreed, "but I'll leave it to you young people. My ring tossing days are over."

She smoothed her light spring coat over her printed morning dress and looked at him, having to tip her head farther than usual with the brim of her hat in the way. "Spoil sport."

"I won't mind a quiet night. Those don't come often, either."

Anna smiled at that, glancing around at the little booths around them, before they walked back the way she'd come. The air as they started up the long path that wound through the grounds was sweet with the smell of crushed grass and magnolias. She held her hands behind her back and breathed deeply, tipped her head up to let the sun kiss her face.

"You're in a good mood," Mr. Bates observed.

In the weeks following Mr. Pamuk's death Anna had indeed been quieter than usual. That, coupled with yet another disappointing letter, had brought painful memories closer to the surface than she would have liked, and so she'd retreated into herself. Now, with the glorious spring weather and the passage of time, she could almost imagine a world consisting only of perfect moments, the past no longer able to haunt her.

"I am," she said. "It's my birthday."

"Your birthday? Why didn't you say anything?"

She laughed at his tone. "It's just another year. I'm twenty-seven."

Mr. Bates chuckled. "I suppose no one's in the wrong if a lady tells you her age."

"Well, I'm not a lady, and I don't pretend to be," Anna said, mock-defiant, tilting her chin up. When she stole a glance at him to see if he'd appreciated the joke, he looked contemplative.

"You are a lady to me."

Her jaw softened, and she felt suddenly shy.

Mr. Bates cleared his throat a little. "Perhaps Daisy could make a tart, if Mrs. Patmore lets her. We should celebrate."

"Poor Daisy," Anna said, thinking of the forever-harried kitchen maid. "I don't want anyone to go to any trouble."

"Who knows what'll happen now that I know?"

Her eyes darted to Mr. Bates, who walked with a smirk on his face. "You'll keep your mouth closed if you want to stay on Mrs. Patmore's good side. If I hear one whisper about a birthday today, I'll know just who to blame."

He raised his free hand in surrender. "All right."

"Good." She sniffed a little, her nose tickling as it usually did before a sneeze. She'd woken with a stuffy nose, which had cleared with the help of hot tea with lemon, and was dreading the annual bought of hayfever coming her way.

* * *

By the end of the servants' lunch, not long after she and Mr. Bates returned from the village, she was frequently pressing her handkerchief to her nose, and her head felt heavy and sluggish. She sniffed uncomfortably as she walked through the kitchen, intending to put some water in a pitcher so she could wash up a little before changing for the afternoon.

"If you have a cold, I want you out of here," Mrs. Patmore warned. Daisy gave Anna a sympathetic look.

"Anna, there you are," Mrs. Hughes said, walking in from the hall. For some reason, the timbre of her voice aggravated Anna's headache. "I can't seem to find Gwen."

"She must be upstairs getting changed."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Well, when you go up will you remind her that I'm going out tonight? Because I don't want to come home to any surprises."

Mrs. Patmore laughed. "Ha! That'll be the day!"

"We thought we might go to the fair later," Anna said. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Daisy?"

Daisy looked unsure, but Mrs. Patmore nodded, pointing to the girl with a wooden spoon. "You ought to go," she said. "She's been that down in the mouth since the death of poor Mr. Pamuk."

"Don't say that," Daisy said quietly.

"Well, she has!" Mrs. Patmore insisted.

"We could all walk down together after the servants' dinner, if that's a-" Anna broke off to sneeze, managing to cover her nose with the handkerchief just in time.

Mrs. Patmore scoffed. "You won't be walking anywhere." She looked at Mrs. Hughes. "She's got minutes to live, by the sound of it."

"Go to bed," Mrs. Hughes said with a pointed look, "at once."

Anna sighed, defeated but secretly relieved. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes." Her plan for fetching water abandoned in favour of bed, Anna wiped her nose and set off for the stairs that led to the women's quarters. Her twenty-seventh birthday, and she'd spend it alone, in bed with a cold.

"I'll bring up a Beechams Powder," the housekeeper called after her.

Mrs. Munsey, the housekeeper at Mayfield, would have never considered sending a sniffly maid to bed, even with a multitude of girls to take on her duties. Anna remembered working through a fever for two days when she was nineteen, too frightened of losing her new post to even admit she was ill.

* * *

After taking the powder, she surprised herself by sleeping through the afternoon, even with the sun pouring in from the window. Vague dreams wove shapelessly through her mind like long, sad vapours through twilight, and when she awoke the room was nearly dark and her nose stuffed again. Earlier, she'd changed into her nightgown but hadn't bothered with her hair, and now it was mussed and untidy. By candlelight she braided it and, knowing she was alone and likely to remain so for hours yet, went to her desk. She pulled out her notebook from where it was hidden at the back of the drawer.

It had been weeks since she'd written anything. In April she'd reread everything, and it had left her feeling so weary and heartbroken, she'd nearly made the decision to burn the thing. One day, she knew, she would have to stop the habit. They were letters to no one. But her fingers itched to pick up the pencil, so she did.

_A pale dream, blurred at the edges. An untended field with the world stretched in front like the palm of my hand. Flowers there, too -red. Late afternoon. And you. Happy as a bee in clover. Walking, gripping the odd long stalk of grass, smelling the flowers. It was as real as a toothache. I only wish-_

Anna looked up at the sound of a knock from the hall, fumbling a little with her notebook. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. Taking the shawl draped over the back of her chair, she opened the door and went into the hall in her bare feet. The abrupt interruption left her feeling vulnerable and raw, and she squinted at the shadow behind the glass of the connecting door, on the men's side, when the knock came again. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders.

"Anna?"

The voice was quiet, but she recognised it instantly. "Mr. Bates?"

"Can you open the door?"

She walked to the connecting door like it was a secret. "I daren't," she whispered. "No one can open that door except Mrs. Hughes."

"Just for a moment. I've brought you something."

A quick internal argument broke out, but she quickly silenced it by taking the key from its nail and carefully unlocking the door. She made sure the shawl covered as much as it could. There was Mr. Bates, appearing much taller now she was barefoot, holding a tray for her. A small bouquet of flowers, a cup of milk, tea, some bread -she couldn't pay attention to everything because he was smiling at her so kindly; no one had ever looked at her that way.

"I don't know what to-"

"Shh," he warned in a whisper, holding the tray forward. "Happy Birthday."

Anna took it from him gingerly, the acute sadness she'd felt seconds ago recounting her fuzzy dream mixing with whatever peculiar blend of happiness and gratitude Mr. Bates had brought with him. When she looked up and smiled in thanks, a cloud of worry passed over his eyes.

"Have you been crying?"

She shook her head reassuringly. "Only sneezing."

He gave her a small smile then, and she returned it. A sudden scatter of footsteps from the staircase broke the moment that passed in which time seemed suspended like oil in water, and she hurried to close the door between them again. The key back on its nail, Anna returned to her room.

On the tray there was indeed tea, milk, and bread. She set the bouquet of wildflowers and lavender on her bedside table by the candle and lifted the white cloche, revealing a small plate of garden strawberries. Her heart felt high in her chest as she ate, taking her time, saving the berries for last. So fresh and ripe they seemed almost to melt on her tongue.

Conflicting thoughts leapt through the green valleys of her mind like fawns at play. She peeled her heart like an orange and examined each slice for seeds, looking for answers there. For months she had tried to ignore the way Mr. Bates looked at her. A quiet man, he couldn't be aware of how much his eyes spoke to her. Smiles lurked there, and anger, too, sometimes, even when his expression remained unchanged. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd caught him off-guard, when she'd glanced up from whatever she was doing, mid-conversation, to find him looking at her differently, an emotion as elusive as the smell of primrose in his eyes. For months she'd explained it away, but there in her bed, in that instant, she knew. He loved her. The thought pierced her like a thorn, because he shouldn't.

* * *

It wasn't long before Gwen came up, already unpinning her cap as she walked in, she was that tired. Having slept straight through the afternoon, Anna worried she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. She now had a throbbing headache, and it was unclear if it had been brought on by a light fever or by the internal battle warring inside her. To admit to herself that she loved him, or to bury it away and forget love; all its foolishness, joy, and suffering.

"Are you feeling any better?" Gwen asked.

Anna nodded. "I should be all right in the morning. Maybe a little stuffy."

"Use that handkerchief I made y -did Mrs. Patmore make you a tray?" she asked, noticing it on the desk.

Anna swallowed. "No...Mr. Bates brought it up," she confessed. "I had to open the door."

Gwen's eyes widened.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Gwen shook her head. "No, but Mrs. Hughes would."

"It won't happen again," Anna promised. "He'd brought it all the way up."

"That was kind of him."

Anna paused a little before agreeing.

"Anna?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you and Mr. Bates find to talk about?" Gwen asked as she got ready for bed. "He was ever so quiet before you came."

The question surprised Anna, who'd never found it difficult to start a conversation with him. "Anything, really. Downton, whatever's in the papers, the weather, a book. It depends."

"Well, I'm glad he's got a friend," Gwen said, now braiding her hair. "It seemed almost everyone gave him trouble when he first got here."

A flash of anger. "You mean Thomas and Miss O'Brien."

"Of course, but even Mr. Carson was a bit hard. At least at the start, before his lordship decided to keep Mr. Bates on."

Anna tried to imagine Mr. Bates' first days at Downton. How everyone must have doubted him, stared at him. And how it must have felt to know that if he didn't keep his post here, with his old comrade in arms, he was unlikely to find another. Her heart felt tight, but she schooled it.

* * *

The next morning, a Saturday, the linens on all the girls' rooms had to be changed and the fireplaces cleaned. Gwen and Anna started in Lady Sybil's room, then moved to Lady Mary's, where Daisy was already crouched by the hearth, her hands blackened from soot as she nervously polished the grate. They were just pulling the fresh sheet up and over the pillows when Daisy's cleaning supplies slipped and clattered beside her, startling Anna. Some fear still lurked inside her, this being the room where she'd first come across Mr. Pamuk's body, even if it was already two months ago.

Gwen smiled good-naturedly and looked at the kitchen maid. "Daisy, what is the matter with you? You're all thumbs."

"I'm running late. Mrs. Patmore will murder me if I'm not down to help with lunch," she said, eyes wide.

"Well, how many have you got left?"

Anna heard their conversation through cotton ears. She remembered how, years ago, her breathing would change nearly every time she had to walk the corridor with Mister Alexander's room on the right side. That door flung wide open with the light pouring out as Lord Darlington pulled her with him back inside. The blood. Mister Alexander's vacant eyes.

"Anna?"

She snapped back to the present, feeling cold and a bit dizzy.

"Are you still sick? Should you go back to bed, do you think?" Gwen asked. "I don't mind finishing up."

Anna shook her head. "No...no, I'm all right. Sorry."

Gwen gave her a strange look of worry and maybe some curiosity, but said nothing more, and they finished the bed in silence. In the corridor, a panicked maid came across Gwen and sighed in relief.

"Oh, Gwen, would you come?"

"Whatever's the matter?"

"It's Sophie. She's gone and stitched the wrong hem, Miss O'Brien's taken her half-day, and none of us know how to undo it."

Gwen looked at Anna.

"Go," Anna said. "I can manage Lady Edith's room."

Gwen thanked her gratefully and went with the younger maid down the hall to the servants' staircase.

Anna took the moment of solitude to stretch a little, then went to Lady Edith's room. With its green walls and rather plain decorations, the room stood in stark contrast to Lady Mary's. Perhaps Mrs. Hughes would let them put flowers with a little more colour in the vase by the window to brighten the place.

She changed the linens with fresh ones from the hall closet, comforted by the methodical process, and set about making the bed. She only had the sheet to tuck in and the duvet to pull over when Mr. Bates, passing by, noticed her. They'd only exchanged morning greetings at a rather rushed servants' breakfast, and she was pleased to see him.

"Shall I give you a hand?" he asked.

"Oh, would you? It takes half the time with two."

He hung his cane on the doorknob and moved to help her tuck the sheet, glancing around the room while he worked.

"I always feel a bit sorry for Lady Edith," he said.

"Me, too," Anna said, surprised. "Although I don't know why, when you think of what she's got and we haven't." They both bent to pick up the duvet and pulled it over. "Mrs. Hughes said she was after the other heir," Anna continued, "Mr. Patrick Crawley? The one who drowned."

"That was different. She was in love with him."

"What happened?" Anna asked.

"She never had her chance," Mr. Bates explained. "He was going to marry Lady Mary."

Anna smoothed the duvet over the pillows. "Sad to think about."

Mr. Bates helped her, their fingers touching briefly by accident.

"It's always sad," Mr. Bates said, "when you love someone who doesn't love you back. No matter who you are."

Anna was suddenly paralysed, and she needlessly smoothed the duvet one last time, keeping her eyes down. "No, I mean it's sad that he died."

"Oh," Mr. Bates said. "Yes...very sad. He was a good man."

She went to pick up the old linens, already folded, and when she stood he took his cane from where it hung on the doorknob. She smiled politely. "Well, thank you for that."

"My pleasure." From his posture, she knew she'd hurt him with her evasiveness. Before moving completely into the hall, Anna turned to look at him.

"Perhaps Mr. Patrick did love her back. He just couldn't say it."

Mr. Bates' eyes changed. Hope she knew he was struggling to bury. "Why not?"

"Sometimes...it wouldn't be right. Maybe he knew that, when she didn't." She gave him another smile, slightly forced, to put him at ease, and left the room. In the servants' staircase she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling warmth in her cheeks, wondering if she should take Gwen's advice and go back to bed. No. She needed to work. Now that she'd said what needed to be said, things could return to normal.

* * *

Before the servants' lunch, as the younger footmen were finishing up their duties, Anna had the time to put a lace trim on one of Lady Sybil's handkerchiefs. Any awkwardness she worried about was missing when Mr. Bates took a seat beside her and took out his book. Across the table, Miss O'Brien took out her own sewing. William was polishing some candlesticks.

"You shouldn't do that in here," Thomas said, coming back from the kitchen and sitting next to Miss O'Brien.

"I don't like being in the pantry all alone," William said. "And Mr. Carson won't mind. He's gone into the village."

"He'll mind if I tell him."

"That's pretty," Anna said to Miss O'Brien, trying to steer William clear of trouble were he to provoke Thomas with another remark.

"Do you think so? She wants it put onto a new shirt, but it's a bit old-fashioned for my taste."

"Oh, no, it's lovely," Daisy, who was shelling peas on Anna's side of the table, said. It was rare that she got to sit with anyone other than Mrs. Patmore and the other kitchen maids, and she always enjoyed being included in the conversation, even if she sometimes had to work to get there. She turned to Anna. "Are you better, Anna? After this morning?"

"What from?" Mr. Bates asked, looking up from his book. Daisy had asked the same question before breakfast, referring to Anna's cold from yesterday, which was disappearing with the help of another Beechams Powder.

"She had a bit of a turn, all sudden-like, when we were in Lady Mary's room," Daisy explained. "I was doing the fire," she clarified quickly.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"What sort of a turn?" Thomas asked. "Did you see a ghost?"

"Leave her alone, if she doesn't want to talk about it," William said.

"I've often wondered if this place is haunted," Thomas continued. "It ought to be."

Miss O'Brien scoffed. "By the spirits of maids and footmen who died in slavery."

"But not, in Thomas' case, from overwork," Mr. Bates said. Despite her loyalties, Miss O'Brien scoffed again.

"I was just thinking," Daisy said quietly. "First we had the Titanic -"

"Don't keep harping back to that," Miss O'Brien warned.

"I know it was a while ago, but we knew 'em," Daisy insisted. "I think of how I laid the fires for Mr. Patrick, but he drowned in them _icy_ waters. And then there's the Turkish gentleman...It just seems there's been too much death in the house."

"But what's that got to do with Lady Mary's bedroom?" William asked the table.

"Nothing," Anna said, somewhat sharply, again intent on her sewing. "Has anyone seen Gwen?"

"Mr. Carson sent her up to lie down," Daisy said. "She must have come down with your cold."

Anna stood up. "Do you think I should take her a tray? Otherwise she'll just have had porridge."

Daisy shrugged. "Ask Mrs. Patmore. I'm sure she could set something aside."

When Anna went up with a tray, she found Gwen's bed empty, and her handbag missing from its usual place on the chair. Wherever her friend was, it wasn't inside Downton, but Anna wouldn't tell. Instead, she set the tray on their small table and changed for the afternoon, somewhat glad of the moment alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you happen to be rewatching, you'll notice that my timeline is a little skewed. I've mixed parts of episode 4 and 5 together. Hopefully it wasn't confusing.


	7. Chapter VII

Part One

The courtyard was only a slight improvement from being in the servants' hall, where the heat from the kitchens mixed with the stagnant warmth of August. At least in the courtyard, though there was no breeze, they had fresh air to breathe. Anna always enjoyed her occasional evening conversations with Mr. Bates, but she especially looked forward to them during the late spring and summer months, where they met outside during the pause between the family's dinner and the servants'. Tonight the air was thick, warm as neglected tea, and she couldn't wait to change out of her black dress and apron. After waiting for several minutes, watching the sun begin to gather itself together and sink to bed, Mr. Bates finally came out and joined her.

"Beautiful night," he said, watching the streaks of colour deepening behind her.

Anna nodded. "So, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

He seemed hesitant, as he had earlier in the day, before luncheon, when he'd mentioned wanting to tell her something. "I saw Thomas take a bottle of wine from the cellar. It was a few weeks ago."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "And you haven't told Mr. Carson?"

"No."

"You're sure he wasn't fetching it to serve upstairs?"

Mr. Bates shook his head. "He tried to hide it. You'd think he'd want to explain himself if he was caught red-handed…"

Anna shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him to take a bottle, but it's a sure way for him to lose his job if anyone finds out." She frowned. "Are you going to tell Mr. Carson?"

Mr. Bates seemed conflicted. "I don't know yet. It feels petty somehow. What do you think?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I think he's taking a big risk. It could be foolish to not report him."

He considered this, looking again at the horizon behind her. "We'll see. At the moment, I've nothing to feel spiteful about."

The door to the servants' entrance had been propped open since the sun began to set in an attempt to let some cool air inside, and an increase in noise hinted that dinner wasn't far off.

"Better go back inside."

Mr. Bates nodded. "Or face Mrs. Patmore's wrath."

* * *

After dinner had been cleared a good number of servants lingered at the table, chatting over a last cup of tea before it was time to go to bed. Even Mrs. Patmore had taken a seat between Thomas and Miss O'Brien, Anna and Mr. Bates opposite the three in what had become their usual places.

"So, it's settled, then?"

Mr. Bates' hands were resting on his folded newspaper he read in increments during the day after Lord Grantham had finished it. This one would soon be taken by the scullery maid and used to start the fires in the morning.

"It should be, although who knows how long it will last. Greece received most of the Albanian territory. The capital is going to change from Yanina to Ioannina. With an I-O instead of a Y."

"And why are they dividing Albania in the first place?" Anna asked.

Mr. Bates wove his fingers together. "To prevent a war between the Great Powers over the region."

"You think there could have been a war over it? And England would have been involved?"

He shrugged. "Anything is possible. We're a Great Power, so, yes."

When Mr. Carson entered the dining room, Mrs. Hughes beside him, everyone stood to acknowledge his presence, but instead of gesturing that they sit back down, he kept them standing.

"I'd like to say something. I'm afraid it's not very pleasant." He looked at them all. "His lordship is missing a very valuable snuff box. It appears to have been taken from the case in his room. If one of you knows anything about this, will he or she come to me?" His tone was very grave, as serious as Anna had ever heard him. "Your words will be heard in the strictest of confidence." Mr. Carson looked at Mr. Bates for a moment. "Thank you."

They all sat back down as the butler left, a shadow of unease settling over the room.

"I am sorry, Mr. Bates," Miss O'Brien said. "What an unpleasant thing to have happened."

"Why are you picking on him?" Anna asked.

"Because he's the only one of us who goes in there," Thomas said, unsurprised. "But don't worry, I'm sure it'll turn up."

Anna looked from Miss O'Brien to Thomas. A thread of something tied their words together somehow.

"Thank you for your concern," Mr. Bates said. A little bell rang, a signal that it was time to head upstairs to bed, and most of the servants stood, eager to get out of the weighted room and go to their rooms, where they could gossip with their friends about where they suspected the snuff box had gone. Mr. Bates didn't stand, and Anna stayed beside him.

"I hate this kind of thing," he said. "I hope to God they find it." There was immediate worry radiating off him.

"I'm sure it'll turn up. Have another look in the morning."

He noticed her hand on his arm. She removed it, not remembering putting it there.

"I should get to bed," Anna said, standing. He followed her to the hall, which was empty except the hall boys at one end.

"Good night, then," he said.

"Good night." She watched him turn away. "Mr. Bates?"

He turned his head back to her.

"Don't worry. And sleep well." She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and he returned it. They went their separate ways.

* * *

The next evening a large dinner was held. Sir Anthony Strallan was invited, presumably - according to the rumour mill- as a prospective match for Lady Mary. Anna hadn't set eyes on the man, but from what she'd heard, he wasn't exactly Lady Mary's first choice. She'd refused Mr. Crawley, and over the months Downton had entertained more than one potential suitor, always leaving disappointed. It wasn't Anna's place to ask Lady Mary how she felt about the whole ordeal, for it seemed an ordeal every time she was dressed to go to these dinners, but she could tell that the process of securing a husband was anything but simple for the upper class. Anna's own parents had married for love, and look how much good that had done for them. Her father had died when she was a little girl and, already poor, her mother had been left destitute with two young daughters and no great skill with which to provide for them. A new husband followed within two years. His arrival brought Anna's childhood to an end.

Downstairs, the kitchen was busy with the main course while Anna sat well out of the line of fire at the dining table, looking in her button box for some grey thread to lend to Mr. Bates. Suddenly, a great clamour was heard, a cry from Mrs. Patmore, and Anna couldn't help hurrying to see what had gone wrong. Gwen, who was coming down the stairs from helping in the dining room, followed.

"What's happened?"

Seeing two roasted chickens on the kitchen floor, the barn cat already picking at one, the problem was immediately clear.

"It's that blooming Daisy!" Mrs. Patmore cried, pointing at the poor kitchen maid. "I said she'd be the death of me, and now me word's come true!"

"I didn't do nothing!"

Before Mrs. Patmore could shriek at the girl any more, Anna took her arm. "Calm down. Come and sit down," she said, leading the cook to a chair at the edge of the kitchen while Gwen shooed the cat away.

"What'll you serve now?" another kitchen maid asked.

"Them, of course," the cook said, starting to cry. "I haven't got anything else."

On the kitchen table half a dozen roasted chickens were already prepared with herbs, a sauce ready to go up as well. The two on the ground must have been the last to come out, and two plates were already set to receive them.

Anna took a cloth resting on the table. "Daisy, give us a hand," she said, quickly taking one of the chickens off the ground. "Get another cloth." She put the chicken on the cutting board while Gwen fetched the other and let Daisy wipe them off as best she could with a cleaner cloth. Quickly, they plated them. "There, what's the matter with that?"

"Are you sure?" Daisy asked. "Shouldn't we tell?"

"Certainly not!" Mrs. Patmore said, now weeping.

"Is it ready to go up?" Thomas asked, entering with William, both carrying empty trays.

"Here we are," Anna said. "Daisy, give him a hand with the vegetables."

"They're up in the servery, in the warmer."

Gwen grimaced. "I'm glad I don't have to eat them."

"What the eye can't see, the heart won't grieve over," Mrs. Patmore said as the footmen took the full trays upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, Anna helped carry down dirty dishes to be washed, following the footmen down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"I hope they find that snuff box," William said.

"I wouldn't be Mr. Bates," Thomas said. "Not for all the tea in China."

"Wouldn't you, Thomas? I dare say he feels just the same about you," Anna said, though she immediately regretted it. She shouldn't speak for Mr. Bates. When she turned around after setting the dirty dishes by the sink, Miss O'Brien was in the doorway, sharing a glance with Thomas, smirking. "What's the matter with you?"

Miss O'Brien's smirk disappeared, replaced by her familiar dour expression. "Nothing." She walked back into the servants' dining room, and as Anna watched her go she had a sudden idea.

"Has anyone seen Mr. Bates?"

"Should be in the boot room," William said, waiting while Mrs. Patmore put some finishing touches on the pudding about to go upstairs.

* * *

Mr. Bates was indeed in the boot room polishing Lord Grantham's shoes, with two other pairs lined up. Because he couldn't serve at table, he often used the time he normally would be required to work catching up on tasks that could be left till morning.

"Mr. Bates?"

He looked up when she entered.

"Are you very busy?"

He looked at the shoes on the table. "It's not dire. What is it?"

She pushed the door so it was only ajar, and moved a little closer to him. "I think I know where that snuff box is."

He raised his eyebrows. "Where?"

"Hidden in your room."

"You don't think that I-"

"' _Course_ I don't," she smiled indulgently, "you silly beggar."

"Then-"

"Thomas likes to meddle. You said it yourself, " she said. "I bet he'd like it if they took you for a thief."

Mr. Bates considered this, nodding. "Yes...I expect he would."

She smirked. "Go upstairs now and find it. And when you have, you can choose whether to put it in Thomas' room, or give it to me, and I'll slip it into Miss O'Brien's."

"You naughty girl," he said, surprised.

She tipped her chin up. "'Fight fire with fire'. That's what my mum says." She went to open the door. "Now, hurry up. I'll finish these for you, so you'll know where to find me if you need help."

He took his cane and walked out. She smirked again in satisfaction and sat, picking up his brush, loaded it with a bit more polish.

* * *

The eye didn't see, but the mouth did taste later that evening when it was revealed that Mrs. Patmore had accidentally sprinkled salt over the elaborate pudding instead of sugar. By the time Mr. Bates did come back down, the boots were all polished, but Anna was in the servants' dining room standing next to Mrs. Patmore, who was beside herself with embarrassment.

"I'm finished," she wept into the handkerchief Anna had leant her. Some other staff members stood around solemnly.

"Hey, come on," Anna said, her hand on the cook's shoulder. "It's not that bad. Nobody's died."

Mrs. Patmore sniffed. "I don't understand it. It must have been that Daisy. She's muddled everything up before now!"

"B-but I never-"

Mr. Carson looked at her. "Don't worry, Daisy. You're not in the line of fire here."

Anna noticed Mr. Bates walk in from the hall and greeted him with a tight smile, squeezing Mrs. Patmore's shoulder again.

"I _know_ that pudding! I chose it 'cause I know it!" Mrs. Patmore insisted.

Mrs. Hughes, next to Anna, sighed in realisation. "Which is why you wouldn't make the Apple Charlotte for her ladyship. Because you didn't know it."

"Exactly!"

Mr. Carson exchanged a look with the housekeeper.

"I don't see how it happened," Mrs. Patmore wept.

"Come on, everyone," Mr. Bates said, when no one else spoke up. "Let's give Mrs. Patmore some room to breathe."

The staff hesitated for a moment, then slowly filtered out, the kitchen maids back to the kitchen to prepare the servants' dinner.

"It'll be all right," Anna said, trying to comfort the cook.

Mr. Bates passed her, tapping her arm. "You, too."

"I don't think I should leave her," she told him quietly.

"Yes, you should," he said. "Mr. Carson knows what he's doing." He lightly tapped her arm with two fingers. "Come on."

She frowned a little, then turned to leave the room with him.

"I finished the boots," she said as they walked slowly down the hall in the direction of the boot room.

"Thank you."

She turned and leaned against the wall. "So, you haven't got a present for me?"

He tried not to smile. "I put it back in the case in his lordship's dressing room."

"That's no fun," she said. "You should have punished one of them, at least."

"They know that I know, and that's worth something," Mr. Bates said. "He's nervous. He thinks I'm planning to tell Mr. Carson about the wine."

"Well, then he shouldn't have stolen it, then, shouldn't he?"

"No. But I don't want anyone to lose their job because of me."

"Even Thomas? Even after what they tried to do to you?"

He nodded. "Even then." He looked down the hall a little as the clinking sounds of a kitchen maid setting the table were heard. She watched him, not quite understanding his reasoning, but admiring him for it.

"I still don't understand why Thomas is so intent on making trouble for you. It's been what, two years?"

"He's after my job," Mr. Bates said. "And he's probably right. As a valet I should have been up there tonight. If Thomas were to take my position, Mr. Carson would have a fully able-bodied staff. It would make things easier."

"His lordship kept you on," Anna said. "Gwen told me. And who can argue with that decision?"

"Sometimes I think it might have been out of pity," Mr. Bates admitted.

"I don't agree. I don't think his lordship is that soft. He wouldn't employ someone whose work he wasn't satisfied with." She had a sudden thought. "What do you think will happen to Mrs. Patmore? It's her sight, isn't it?"

He turned back to her. "She'll muddle through with Daisy for help. In the long term, we'll just have to wait for the doctor to give his opinion."

A flower of compassion and worry bloomed inside of her. "I hope there's something they can do."

"I hope so, too," he said. "But if there isn't, I hope they tell her there isn't."

Mr. Carson's voice carried through, calling everyone loitering in the servants' hall to the dining room for dinner. Anna straightened up after leaning on the wall, and they walked back together.

"Nothing is harder to live with than false hope," Mr. Bates finished cryptically.

She looked anywhere but at him, biting the inside of her cheek, half of her wishing he'd just come out with it; the other half, the tougher and life-weathered one, convinced her that his silence preserved their friendship. How precarious it all was. Like an iridescent soap bubble in the wind. Its secret rainbows. She was terrified that one day it would burst open, and terrible things would come flying out.

* * *

While everything was being cleared away after the servants' dinner, she looked past Mr. Bates to the head of the table. "Mr. Carson?"

He turned his head.

"We were wondering about that snuff box. Has it turned up yet?"

"I'm afraid not," he said, casting a look around the room.

"Well, I think we should have a search," Mr. Bates said.

Thomas looked up. "What?"

"It doesn't do to leave these things too long."

"Mr. Carson can search the men's rooms, and Mrs. Hughes' the women's," Anna suggested. "And it should be right away, now we've talked of it, so no one has a chance to hide the box. Don't you agree, Mr. Carson?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, perhaps it's for the best, although I'm sure I won't find anything. Mrs. Hughes?"

The housekeeper nodded. "I quite agree."

When both of them were out of sight and on their way, Thomas quickly stamped out the cigarette he'd just lit.

"I think I'll just-"

"I better check it's tidy," Miss O'Brien said quickly. They both stood, hurrying out of the dining room to the servants' stairs.

After they left, Anna snuck a look at Mr. Bates, who was smirking. She caught a laugh in her throat before it could escape.

* * *

At the end of the month was the annual flower show, and the bulk of the staff headed into the village on foot shortly after the family left in the motor. Anna wore the dress she'd made from the fabric Lady Mary had gifted her for Christmas under a cream coloured coat. Last year it had rained the day of the flower show, leaving the air thick, the sky murky. But this year the intense blue of the noonday sky burst like a jewel in the sunlight. Life felt easy.

At the show the musk of a thousand blooms drenched them in a scent so pleasant she could almost taste it. Mr. Molesley's father had grown magnificent roses, made all the more beautiful by the humbleness with which they were presented. Anna went around the hall with Gwen, examining all the flowers on display. Gwen was quiet, having been rejected from the post she'd applied for weeks ago, and Anna wanted to see her smile again.

"There's a place for you somewhere," she told her, "you'll see."

"I wonder…" Gwen said. "I got my hopes up too high, I think that's why I felt so low when I didn't get it."

Anna smiled. "Cheer up. We'll keep checking the papers for job listings. It wouldn't surprise me if by this time next year you're off on your own somewhere working as a secretary."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do," Anna said. "Now, come on, let's see what the Dowager's brought in to pick up the Cup again."

"Poor Mr. Molesley. He ought to win. His roses really are the best in the village."

Anna chuckled. "In a fairer world."

* * *

On the way back, Anna walked with Mr. Bates, the others soon ahead of them, but she didn't mind going at a slower pace. So much of their time was spent indoors. Even with large windows and spectacular views, there was nothing quite like walking the wooded path up to the house, the wildness of the trees in the full bloom of summer, impossibly green. They talked of everything and nothing, but somehow it was infinitely satisfying. Anna thought luck must have decided to at least give her this, even after all she'd done.

They crossed the little bridge over the brook, the Abbey now in sight. The clear water below them babbled, running over the small river rocks, their mossy beards.

"Sad to think that the leaves will start to turn soon."

"We've still got a fair bit of summer left," Mr. Bates said. "Anyway, I enjoy autumn. Everything seems to quiet down a little, but not too much."

"I feel like time is passing faster and faster," Anna said. "Like I came to Downton a week ago. But it's been over a year."

Mr. Bates chuckled. "That's either age or happiness.."

She smiled. "You told me you thought I would be happy here. Do you remember?"

"I did, didn't I?" He glanced at her.

A slight chill came over her, like a November breeze. She kept her eyes forward on the smaller forms of the other servants ahead of them. "We should catch up, or we'll miss our tea."

"And are you? Happy?"

She swallowed. "Happier than I was before, yes."

He cleared his throat a little. "Anna?"

"Yes?" She increased the pace of her stride enough to make matching it difficult for him.

"Anna, will you stop for a minute?" His voice gave him away completely. She knew what was coming.

Heart pounding, she stopped and turned, waiting for him to catch up, looking at her hands clasping the handle on the small handbag she'd brought. All seemed suddenly hushed, the air listening, like an audience settling before the curtain rose.

"Mr. Bates, please don't."

"Don't what?"

"You'll regret it." She glanced up at him, at his careful eyes. "Things won't be the same after you do."

"You don't deny it, then?"

Her lip trembled, and she shook her head. "No, I don't deny it." A long moment passed like a train with them waiting to cross the tracks.

"Because I love you," he said.

"I know," she blurted, looking away from him to the house. "But you mustn't."

He sighed. "I tried that. It hasn't worked."

"Well, then you must try harder," she insisted, looking at him, her eyes wide. "Because I can't."

"I wish you'd just tell me."

Her cheeks felt warm. "Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is you're hiding." His voice was so kind. It made her lungs ache. "Is it...are you married?"

She laughed a dark laugh. "Heavens, no!"

He was visibly relieved. "Then what could be so terrible? Because I have a past, too, you know. We all do. _I've_ been married."

She set her jaw to keep her lip from trembling. "You don't know me, Mr. Bates. You think you do, but you don't."

"Nothing you say could make me love you less."

_It will change the way we think of him. It always does._

When she'd argued, he'd insisted that _it would, it certainly would._

"Mr. Bates," she said, as calmly as she could, "I don't deny it, but I can't. I just can't." The sound of the motor coming up the drive helped break the moment. "Come on, we're late."

* * *

Part Two

Then came some weeks of quiet awkwardness. At first they'd tried to carry on as usual, even meeting in the courtyard most evenings to speak about their days. With time, however, these became infrequent and occured mostly on accident. Occasionally she would go out for some fresh air and find him already there, so she'd join him for a few minutes. Inevitably, he would soon find an excuse to return inside, leaving her alone as the sun began to set earlier, the air cooled, and the leaves faded into shades of fire, shivering on the branch. Soon, they would fall dead to the ground.

"Anna?" Gwen asked one night while Anna braided her own hair. "If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it to yourself?"

"Of course."

"You won't say anything to Mr. Bates?"

A confused wrinkle appeared on Anna's forehead as she looked at her friend through the mirror. "Of course not, if it's between us."

Gwen bit her lip. "Well, it concerns him."

"How so?" Anna tied off her braid, took her shawl from the back of her desk chair, and went to bed, sitting down cross-legged and facing Gwen.

"Well...Thomas, Miss O'Brien, and Daisy came to Mr. Carson yesterday. They say they saw Mr. Bates hanging up the key to the cellar."

A rush of anger rose up into Anna's chest. "And what is he being accused of?"

Gwen didn't notice Anna's reaction. She looked uncomfortable enough herself. "A few months ago, Mr. Carson noticed that the wine ledger was off. He told Mrs. Hughes, and she asked me if I knew anything about it. We all assumed the bottles had been miscounted. But now...if Mr. Bates had the key…"

Anna shook her head. "It wasn't him."

"It doesn't seem like something he'd do."

"Put Thomas and Miss O'Brien in the same room and trouble is bound to follow."

"Do you think you could ask him?" Gwen asked. "Maybe there's a simple reason why he had the key."

"I know he's done nothing wrong."

Gwen's eyes widened a little at Anna's tone. "I don't think he has, either, and neither do Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes, but they will need to ask him about it." She fiddled with her own braid. "Is he all right, do you think?"

Anna nodded. "I'm sure he's fine."

After she'd blown out the candle Anna realised it had been days since they'd talked of anything other than the weather, what was in the papers, or daily pleasantries. Was it possible to miss someone you saw every day?

* * *

The next afternoon after Anna came down from dressing Lady Mary to go riding, she saw Mr. Bates coming out of Mr. Carson's office, his face sad and stormy.

"Mr. Bates?"

He saw her, smiled lightly, and said, "Well, this shouldn't come as a shock to either of us."

"What's happened?" she asked, walking beside him down the hall to the boot room.

His jaw was tense. "It has been _suggested_ that I was seen 'handling the cellar key', which is how Mr. Carson put it. I think we know what that's code for."

"You mean Thomas has accused you of taking the wine?"

"Yes." Mr. Bates frowned. "Mr. Carson said he wouldn't tell his lordship at this stage."

"Well, you-"

A bell rang from the servants' hall, and a hall boy called for Anna.

"It's Lady Edith."

Anna looked from the boy to Mr. Bates.

"Go on," Mr. Bates said. "There's nothing we can do."

She frowned at that, but went up to Lady Edith's room.

* * *

In the pause between the upstairs dinner and the servants' dinner, Anna looked up from her sewing at the dining table, realising that Mr. Bates hadn't come to sit and finish his paper as he usually did after dressing his lordship for dinner. Knowing there were only two places he could be, she packed up her mending, tucked it away, and braced herself for the evening chill as she went out the servants' door into the courtyard.

"I thought you must be out here," she said, crossing over to where he was sitting on top of some solid crates, looking pensive.

"And you'd be right."

She hesitated a moment, then sat beside him, her hands in her lap. Above them a delicate moon, like a silver hand, cupped the night sky in its palm.

"I know you're upset," she said at last.

"Yes. I'm upset." He looked at her. "I've been working here for almost three years, and yet Mr. Carson has no difficulty believing the worst of me."

Oddly, having personal conversations with Mr. Bates was easier for her than surface-level small talk. "I think he has a great deal of difficulty, which is why he hasn't told his lordship yet." She sighed. "Can't you just explain about Thomas?"

"Not now. It would sound like a false accusation."

Anna was having trouble keeping her frustration at bay. "You can't take it lying down. Because you're not guilty of any wrong, and before it's over I'm going to tell the world." She could see herself barging into Mr. Carson's office if Mr. Bates wouldn't speak up.

"Are you?" he asked, smiling lightly.

She nodded, determined. "Yes."

"And does this mean we're friends again?"

Her heart skipped a beat, wounded by the idea that he'd thought she no longer cared for him at all. "Of course," she said. She put her hand on his arm. "Always."

"Good." He patted her hand with his, but there was no corkscrew of attraction that spiraled down through her, only peace. She knew, in that moment, that love could mean something as simple and pure as feeling comfortable with someone.

* * *

A week passed, then another, until Anna almost forgot about Thomas' accusations against Mr. Bates. A cloud still hung over him, though. She saw it in his silence. He pretended to read, but a dozen minutes would pass before he turned the page. At the first frost, with nothing else to do, Anna bought some black yarn and went about knitting a scarf for him.

"You should have one, anyway, for when you go to London with his lordship," she said as she knit in a chair by the fire in the servants' dining room, Mr. Bates sat at the table, turned toward her.

"If I still have a post," he said darkly. His book was open in his left hand, but he watched her fingers dance along the needles.

She sighed. "Post or not, it's almost winter. If you don't want it, I can give it to Gwen. She's in bed with a cold."

"Again?"

She smirked back at him. Some time before the flower show, Gwen had feigned illness so she could sneak to a job interview with Lady Sybil. She'd gotten back disastrously late and tracked mud up the servants' stairs. Anna hadn't been able to resist telling Mr. Bates, who still scanned the paper for secretary positions every afternoon.

"It's not like that. She was running a fever when I checked on her before tea." She glanced at the wall clock. The footmen were clearing up after the family's dinner. "I should go up again soon. Maybe take her a tray." When she looked back at Mr. Bates he was staring at his book, but his eyes weren't moving. "You're a _brooder_ , Mr. Bates."

His eyes crinkled in a smile, and he nodded. "And brooders brood."

Mr. Carson walked in, and they stood.

"Ah, Mr. Bates. I wonder if I could see you in my office?"

"Of course, Mr. Carson," Mr. Bates said, a thread of worry in his voice.

"Anna, Mrs. Hughes has asked you to be present, as well. Normally it would be the first housemaid. You can tell Gwen when you go up tonight, can't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson." She pushed her knitting down securely on the needle and left it on the chair, following behind Mr. Bates as they went to Mr. Carson's office. Mrs. Hughes was already there. Standing in a row were Thomas, Daisy, and Miss O'Brien.

"Anna," Mrs. Hughes said, gesturing for Anna to stand next to her. She went, exchanging a quick look with Mr. Bates, noting his carefully concealed anxiety as he stood next to Miss O'Brien. Mr. Carson shut the door and cleared his throat.

He turned first to Thomas. "Do you stand by your story?"

Thomas didn't blink. "I don't have a story."

"You saw Mr. Bates in here, alone, hanging up the cellar key. To me, that is a story."

"I only said I might have seen him. I suppose I was wrong."

"And Miss O'Brien," Mr. Carson said, now focussing on her, "were you then wrong when you _thought_ you saw Mr. Bates carrying a bottle?"

Anna's mouth dropped open. "You wicked creature-"

"Anna, you're here to watch, not to participate," Mrs. Hughes warned.

Miss O'Brien looked at Mr. Carson. "I don't think I was wrong, no."

"And what do you say to that, Mr. Bates?" the butler asked.

Anna looked at Mr. Bates, widening her eyes. If he didn't report Thomas, she would.

"I know this to be untrue because I have no need of it," he said. "Since I arrived at Downton, you have never seen me drink one drop of alcohol."

Anna thought back. He was right. Even at New Years, when they'd all enjoyed a bit of champagne, he'd said he preferred some of the warm cider Mrs. Patmore had prepared.

"Let us say, then, that Miss O'Brien was mistaken," Mr. Carson said.

"Mistaken, my eye!" Anna said.

"And Daisy, we all know the value of your contribution."

"Yes, Mr. Carson," she said meekly.

Mr. Carson turned his attention back to Mr. Bates. "But I must ask one thing, Mr. Bates. How did you know the wine had been taken?"

Anna bit the inside of her cheek and glanced at Thomas, satisfied to see him looking uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that."

Mr. Carson kept his eye on Mr. Bates for a moment longer, then sighed. "Well, as I can see no clear evidence as to why Mr. Bates would be in any way to blame, I suppose you all may go." He opened the door to the office, a bit annoyed, and the three witnesses went willingly. Mr. Bates, however, didn't move.

"If I might keep you for a minute more, Mr. Carson?"

"If you'd like us to leave-"

"No, I would like you to stay, please, Mrs. Hughes. And you, Anna."

Mr. Carson shut the door, then stood back, waiting. Anna, confused as to why she'd been asked to stay, but grateful to be there, relaxed her mouth, watching Mr. Bates curiously.

"You have decided not to take actions over the allegations Thomas has made against me because you believe them to be untrue?"

Mr. Carson nodded. "That is correct."

"And you are right," Mr. Bates continued. "There is no truth in them. But if you were to proceed with the matter, you would find them to be proven." He looked at all three of them. "Thomas has tried to convince you that I am a drunkard and a thief."

"Which we never believed," Anna said firmly.

"Because you know no different," he said, looking at her, a look that showed how important this conversation was. She'd seen it before, in August, when he'd told her he loved her. Only this time there was pain in his eyes. He took a steadying breath, turning back to Mr. Carson. "Until a couple of years ago, I was a drunkard. And I was imprisoned as a thief."

Mrs. Hughes gasped a little, Mr. Carson's eyes widened. Anna watched Mr. Bates' hand tremble on his cane.

"I have repaid your kindness very poorly." Each sentence seemed to come from a deep place, like extracted teeth. "I masqueraded as a man of honour and integrity, but by any moral code, I am disgraced."

"That can't be the whole story," Mrs. Hughes said.

Anna kept looking at him, trying to see him as a drunkard, trying to imagine why he would ever steal. Did a lie of omission make a liar out of him? If it did, then she was a liar, too.

"Perhaps not," he admitted, "but it's enough of it to demand my resignation."

Fifteen minutes ago she had been knitting him a scarf. Now she was frightened, immeasurably frightened, that after tonight she would never see him again.

Mr. Carson held up a hand. "Do you want to leave, Mr. Bates?"

"No. But I feel I have no choice."

"You owe me a say in the matter, surely?" Mr. Carson asked.

"If you wish."

The butler folded his hands. "Then I will consider the case and give you my decision when I have discussed it with his lordship. Until then, I hope you will remain in your post."

She watched as Mr. Bates struggled to contain his gratitude as he looked from Mr. Carson to Mrs. Hughes, then nodded minutely. When he finally looked at Anna, she didn't know what emotions were playing across her face. She tried to appear unshaken.

* * *

Dinner was tense for everyone who had been in Mr. Carson's office. They didn't speak, Mr. Bates barely ate, and Anna didn't have much of an appetite, either. When it was over, he got up quickly and walked out to the hall in the direction of the servants' door. Fearing, for a moment, that he might wander out into the inky night and keep going, never to return, Anna followed him. She schooled her gait to an unhurried one when she saw him standing still, looking out onto the dark grounds.

"Mr. Bates?"

He looked away from whatever far off, invisible point he had been concentrating on. "Anna."

She twisted her hands and tried not to sound too desperate. "Will you really leave?"

His eyes were soft. "I doubt his lordship wants a thief in the house." He smiled, a little forced. "Now, go to sleep. Dream of a better man."

She chuffed out a laugh. "All your talk of good men. His lordship. Mr. Patrick…" She smiled a little sadly. "Mr. Bates, _you_ are a good man. I've never known a better one."

"I'm not the man I said I was," he said.

"We all have a past." Without taking her eyes from him, she found his hand in the dark, wove her cold fingers through his. "And nothing you say could make me love you less."

He said nothing. In the dark, it seemed that everything was louder, and one wrong word could break whatever spell she had cast on him. Anna nodded a little, squeezed his hand. Somehow, she felt closer to him now. She even thought, in the madness that follows a profession of love, that she could tell him anything. After a precious moment, she realised from the look on his face, the fluttering in her chest, that they were going to kiss. She tilted her face up, lips parting as he leaned down, when the door opened. Empty milk bottles clinked together as the scullery maid set them out for the morning. Anna's hand slipped away from his, coming to cover her mouth as they instinctively stepped back from each other, startled by the noise.

"Anna-"

"Sorry," she said behind her fingers. "I- good night."

She looked at him quickly once more, then walked away, back inside.


	8. Chapter VIII

As usual, the family being away for the London Season didn't translate into a significantly lighter workload for the staff. Rarely-used rooms were aired, others cleaned from top to bottom. Meals were extended a little longer, but the days of uninterrupted breakfasts came to a close in July, when the family returned to Downton after five months in London at Grantham House. Although there was a second staff in London, the Season still demanded the services of Miss O'Brien, Gwen, Mr. Bates, and Mr. Carson. The servants, usually somewhat divided by their positions, had more frequent opportunities to socialise over cards, parlour games, and the occasional small dance in the dining room with Mrs. Hughes' permission. These had been rare, though, since William's return from seeing his mother, who had recently passed away. Anna had promised to make him an armband, but was called upstairs as soon as the footmen had finished unloading the rest of the luggage to help Gwen unpack the girls' cases.

Lady Sybil was still aglow with the success of her first season, and chatted happily while she helped Anna unpack and sort through her dresses. There was gossip about other debutants whose family names Anna vaguely recognised from previous conversations while dressing the girls. Lady Mary had stayed in London with her aunt for a few more weeks, which meant an easy division of duties for Gwen and Anna. By the time everything was unpacked the girls only wanted to relax after travelling, so Anna went down to have her tea while Gwen changed out of her travelling clothes and into her uniform.

Anna stopped by the mending room for her sewing kit and the black fabric she'd cut earlier. Although she had received letters from him during the time he'd been away, she was happy to see Mr. Bates again, sitting in his usual spot at the servants' dining table across from Miss O'Brien and Thomas. He smiled at the sight of her.

"So, how was London?" she asked, sitting beside him.

"Dirty, noisy, and quite enjoyable," he said.

"Lady Sybil seemed pleased."

"Wouldn't you be? New dresses, dancing every other evening, curtsying before the king?"

"Maybe in another life," Anna said, smiling good-naturedly. She started on her sewing.

Mr. Bates poured her a cup of tea and, in a lower voice, asked, "How's William?"

"He's quiet. Bearing up."

"But he had time to say goodbye?"

She nodded. "I don't know if that makes it easier or harder. Knowing you're seeing someone for the last time, or finding out in a letter when you're far away from them."

He took a sip of tea. "Well, you've only got one mother."

"Yes."

Miss O'Brien looked up from the letter she was reading and stared at Mr. Bates. Noticing her gaze, he held it, before she folded the paper into a small square.

"Care for a smoke?" she asked, standing.

"Don't mind if I do," Thomas said, putting down his scone and following.

William came in, Gwen not far behind. "There they go. Guy Fawkes and his assistant."

"Which is which?" Gwen asked playfully, taking a seat next to Anna, who cut the thread close to the armband, now finished.

"Here you are," she said, handing it across the table to William.

He looked at her gratefully, carefully pulling it over his sleeve.

Anna turned back to Mr. Bates, who looked tense. "Surely if his lordship hasn't done anything until now, it means he doesn't want to take it any further."

He glanced at her. "Still, I'd prefer to know one way or another. But enough about that. Is there any other news?"

She smirked. "We can talk about your job, or the assassination of the Austrian Archduke. You choose."

* * *

By the morning, the house was aflutter with the news that Lady Grantham was expecting a baby. The main topic was not, however, the fact that a baby was coming eighteen years after Lady Sybil but, rather, the question of whether or not the small life would affect Mr. Crawley's prospects. If Lady Grantham had a boy, Matthew Crawley would no longer be the heir to the title. Anna didn't know for certain, but she was almost sure he had proposed to Lady Mary not long before the family had left for London. Nothing had been made official, but from what Anna knew of Lady Mary, she wouldn't put it past her to draw out her decision for the months that remained of her mother's pregnancy. Would Lady Mary ever tell her future husband, whoever he might be, of Mr. Pamuk? Or, if she did, would she wait until after the marriage was already sealed, so the scandal of divorce could be avoided?

"Maybe we should knit something!" Daisy said as she served the servants' tea. "Anna, could you teach me?"

"'Course I could. What were you thinking of making?"

Miss O'Brien scoffed at Daisy. "Oh, yes, I'm sure they'd love a pair of bootees knitted by you."

"Or, what about a christening mug?" William suggested.

"They can buy their own silver," Thomas said, not looking up from The Daily Mirror.

Gwen helped herself to a bit of jam, putting a dollop on her scone. "Anything in the paper, Thomas?"

"They've arrested this Princip fellow and his gang." He looked up. "All Serbian and members of the Black Hand."

"The Black Hand?" Miss O'Brien said. "Oh, I don't like the sound of that."

Mr. Bates, about to pick up his cup of tea, set it back in its saucer. "I don't like the sound of any of it. War is the way."

"Then we'll have to face it. As bravely as we can," William said.

Thomas looked at him. "Thank you, Mr. Cannon Fodder."

"Well, don't _you_ think a war's coming?" Gwen asked Thomas.

"Oh, there'll be a war, all right. And it's time to prepare for it."

Anna frowned. "The country, do you mean?"

"No. Me."

"You never disappoint," Mr. Bates said. Anna looked at him, worried. He was the only one of them who really knew war.

"Daisy," Mr. Carson said, walking in, making them all stand, "run and fetch Mrs. Patmore. His lordship wants to see her in the library."

Daisy put down the teapot next to Gwen. "His lordship wants Mrs. Patmore to go up to the library?"

"That is what I said. And Anna, you're to come, too."

* * *

It wasn't until the pause between the upstairs dinner and the servants' dinner that Anna had a chance to speak to Mr. Bates again. She found him in the boot room, and although he was polishing Lady Mary's riding boots, of all things, she could tell he was preoccupied with something else. He didn't look up when she walked in and took a pair of Lady Edith's shoes, standing on the other side of the table.

"You're brooding again, Mr. Bates." She dipped her brush in the polish he had taken out and started on the left shoe. After a minute of working in silence, he looked up.

"What did his lordship want in the library earlier?"

She smirked. "If I tell you, will it take that look off your face?"

"What look?"

"Like you've got the weight of all the world on your shoulders."

He scrubbed at the boot again. "It seems that Miss O'Brien has discovered and brought to Mr. Carson's attention further...details about my past."

"But how could _she_ know anything about you?"

"Doesn't matter." He looked over at her. "The point is, there's more evidence to show to his lordship. If he's been on the fence about it these last months, what Miss O'Brien's uncovered will tip him over to one side. I'm sure of it."

Anna sighed. "I wish you'd just tell me." Some noise came from the servants' hall, orders from Mrs. Patmore to her kitchen maids. "I don't like being kept in the dark."

"Now you know how I feel," he said, a hint of a smile in his eyes, and she remembered their conversation on the way back from the flower show almost a year ago. After that day, he hadn't pushed her to reveal anything about herself. It was an unspoken point of tension between them, knowing that the beginning or end to whatever romantic relationship that could develop between them was locked tightly inside Anna. "I was sent to prison for stealing silver."

She put down her brush and fixed him with a look, taking in his expression, his posture.

"I'm sorry. I don't believe it."

"How can you say that? When I've confessed to the crime?"

She chuckled. "Because I could more easily see you as an assassin than a petty thief."

"I told you, I'm not the man I said I was."

"If I remember correctly, Mr. Bates, you said you were imprisoned as a thief...you never said you were one, and I don't think you are." In that instant he appeared caught. She knew a lie when she saw one. Her tone changed from teasing to kind. "Obviously his lordship doesn't think that's all there is to it, either. Else he would have acted by now."

Mr. Bates closed the jar of polish and set the boots on the rack where finished shoes were placed.

"He's being extremely generous."

"And...you can still report Thomas."

He shook his head. "It might have worked months ago when all this was fresh. Reporting him now would only strengthen the case against me." He watched her finish up Lady Edith's shoes, how she used the brush to get out her frustration. "Now, what did his lordship want upstairs?"

Anna let him take the shoes from her and put them away. "He's sending Mrs. Patmore to London to see an eye specialist, and I'm to go with her."

"That's very good of him," he said. "How long will you be gone?"

"Depends what the doctor says. I imagine they'll want to perform an operation while we're already there, if it's possible. We're leaving on Tuesday morning, and I'll be staying on at Belgrave Square."

"So, it'll be an adventure?"

She smirked. "We'll see."

The clamour of noise told them that the servants' dinner wasn't far off, so they walked out of the room together and into the hall.

"Will you miss me?" she asked quietly.

He smiled. "Try not to miss me. It'll be good practice."

* * *

She left for London two days later with Mrs. Patmore, who was jittery and spent most of their train journey silently chewing her lip. The passing landscape held no interest, as she couldn't distinguish the trees from the fields, and reading was impossible. Engaging her in conversation wasn't any easier, and the only time they really spoke was over lunch. At the station they were met by Lady Rosamund's chauffeur, who took them directly to Moorfields Eye Hospital and waited while Anna took Mrs. Patmore inside.

"This isn't bad at all, is it?" Anna asked, unpacking Mrs. Patmore's carpet bag into a small cupboard while the cook sat on the simple bed in the room they'd assigned her. The furniture was sparse, and although Anna thought it nice that the room had a window, it wouldn't do Mrs. Patmore much good until her vision was fixed.

If Mrs. Patmore had been jittery before, now she just seemed heartbreakingly confused, and after the doctor's rather cryptic examination involving medical terminology neither of them could work their minds around, Anna couldn't blame her. The point was, she qualified for a surgery to remove the cataracts.

"Well, I don't know. No one told me there'd be an actual operation."

"What did you think? They were just going to make magic passes over your eyes?"

The cook just shook her head nervously. Another doctor came in.

"All right, Mrs...Patmore?"

Mrs. Patmore squinted, trying to make him out.

"She'll be fine," Anna said. "Thank you."

He consulted the paperwork he carried. "And you've been sent to us by the Earl of Grantham?" he confirmed, surprised.

"That's right."

"Very good," he said. "You can leave her now," he told Anna. "We'll keep her in for a week. You can collect her next Friday."

She smiled politely as he left, then leaned closer so Mrs. Patmore could see her more clearly, a hand on her arm.

"I'll be in to visit every day," she promised.

"What about the rest of the time?"

Anna smiled again. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."

* * *

The day was still young and, after greeting the butler and housekeeper and settling into her room in the servants' quarters at Belgrave Square, Anna went out again, taking her umbrella as some greyness overtook the clear sky, heading to the Duke of York Barracks. When she asked for help locating John Bates, citing herself as his cousin, a sergeant looked at her skeptically. She stood her ground, and he finally told her to wait while he got the information she'd requested.

He returned about ten minutes later with a thick ledger, opened to the middle. "You don't mean John Bates, who went to prison for theft?"

"That's correct."

The man raised his eyebrow. "Well, I know who he is right enough. That was an odd business."

"Why 'odd'?"

"Never mind," he said, shutting the ledger and tucking it under his arm. "So...you're his cousin and you'd like to be in touch?"

She nodded.

"Very forgiving." He took a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. "Well, I've got no address for him or his wife, but I have got one for his mother, which should still be good. I've written it down for you."

Anna swallowed, hearing the words muffled, as if from underwater. His _wife_? She took the paper he offered and smiled tightly. "Thank you for your trouble."

* * *

After dining with the small staff at Belgrave Square on Friday, Anna decided to walk rather than catch a bus to Mrs. Bates' address. She needed the time to organise her thoughts. She had no idea of how much his mother might know. Were they even in contact with each other? Her prompt reply to Anna's letter with an invitation to call had been encouraging, but when she finally arrived at the small, modest street with its tidy houses all in a line, pretty little window boxes, she had a sudden doubt. Did she _want_ to know? The last thing she would want was someone meddling in her own past, and going about it behind her back, too. Especially if it was someone she was close to. But was it worth it to respect his privacy and risk him leaving Downton? She opened the gate to number fourteen, walked up the steps, and rang the bell.

After a few moments the door was opened by a maid. In a house this size, she probably comprised the whole staff.

"Miss Smith?"

Anna nodded. "Yes."

The young woman smiled. "Come in. She's expecting you."

The inside of the house was just as modest as the street it sat upon, but there were small details that hinted at family heirlooms, adding a layer of coziness to the place that had never been present in the houses Anna grew up in. She didn't know if Mr. Bates had ever lived here, but it felt like a home. A stained glass lamp, a clock in the hall that went straight through and back, a framed piece of embroidery on the wall, a sturdy writing desk, the well-upholstered chairs when Anna was led into the sitting room.

"Ah, Miss Smith," the older woman greeted, a soft Irish accent painting her words, and although Anna had been intimidated, for some reason, at the thought of meeting her, Mrs. Bates' eyes immediately assured her that she was genuinely welcome. Anna had always thought it endlessly wonderful to discover the hidden markings tying children to their parents. Growing up, she hadn't resembled her own mother that much -sticking out as the rogue blonde next to her sister and mother with their warm brown hair and hazel eyes- but one day she'd noticed they walked the same way, the right foot slightly turned out. Her sister's hair had the exact same pattern of waves as their mother. When she frowned their foreheads had lines in the same places. And now she saw that Mr. Bates had inherited his mother's eyes.

"Hello, Mrs. Bates. Thank you for seeing me."

"Of course," the older woman said, gesturing for Anna to take a seat opposite her. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I work with your son at Downton Abbey." The maid brought a tea tray to the small table, and Mrs. Bates thanked her, then poured two cups. "I know he went to prison for theft, but I can't see him as one. When I was at the barracks the sergeant said it had been an 'odd business'."

Mrs. Bates looked up from stirring her tea. "It _was_ odd."

"Because he was innocent?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't believe him to be guilty?"

"No, I don't. He won't tell me what happened, but I _know_ he's not."

"You wouldn't be Anna, would you?"

"I am, yes." She watched as Mrs. Bates did a split second appraisal, almost indetectable. The older woman smiled, handing Anna her cup.

"Well, you're right, of course."

Her heart soared. "Then...who was the thief?"

"His wife." The words were like cutlery hitting the floor. "Vera."

The shock must have registered on her face, because Mrs. Bates' eyes filled with concern.

"His wife?"

"As was," Mrs. Bates clarified. Her jaw set a bit firmly, as if holding something else in.

That blow dealt with, Anna plowed ahead.

"What happened, then?"

"She worked at the barracks sometimes," Mrs. Bates said, "helping at big dinners, and so on. One night her opportunity came, and she took it. Regimental silver. Someone even saw her with a big carry-all." Latent anger flashed through her eyes like bothered birds flying away from a shot. "They knew it was her."

"But why did he confess?"

Mrs. Bates sighed, taking a steadying sip of tea before putting the cup and saucer back on the table. "You know him now, Miss Smith, but you have to understand that John wasn't the same man in those days. The African War had shaken him up and made him angry. He'd been wounded, and he drank a lot." She looked at her lap. "More than was good for him."

Anna wanted to comfort the woman somehow, to assure her that she knew John Bates, that she didn't judge him or think of him any differently. She wanted to tell Mrs. Bates she loved her son. Only one thing gave her worry. When Mrs. Bates raised her eyes and looked at her again, Anna schooled her expression to be as neutral as possible.

"Was he violent?"

"No," his mother said. "Not _violent_."

Too many memories of the smell of beer, the sound of someone stumbling in late at night, horrible secrets...

"He could be hard at times," Mrs. Bates continued, "with a tongue like a razor. He felt he'd ruined Vera's life, Miss Smith. That she'd never have gone wrong but for his treatment of her."

"And do you agree with him?"

"No," she said firmly. "I thought she was a nasty piece of work, and I'm thankful to be rid of her." Her eyes softened. "Forgive me. That was harsh."

"It's all right."

Mrs. Bates picked up her tea again. "But _that's_ why he took the blame."

Anna sighed. "Surely, if everyone knew he was innocent…"

"But he confessed! There was nothing to be done once he'd confessed except lock him away."

Her gaze grew distant again as she revisited painful memories. Anna set down her tea.

"But he was only in prison for two years."

Mrs. Bates nodded. "Just two, thank heaven. But for all of his suffering and sacrifice, Vera only repaid it by asking for almost all his money and a divorce."

"H-he didn't want her to leave?"

She shrugged a little. "I was the one looking after her while he was in prison, and I've never known a greedier, more selfish person. I was glad to see her go. But, you see, I'm a Catholic. Before Vera, I was strongly opposed to divorce. He knew my views. No matter how hard I tried to convince him, my stubborn son would rather go to his grave married to a creature who tormented him rather than disrespect my beliefs."

"There are worse faults," Anna said.

Mrs. Bates gave Anna a gentle smile. "That's true." She frowned a little. "But why all these questions, dear? John isn't in any sort of trouble, is he?"

"No, he isn't in any trouble. Not anymore."

* * *

Monday was Anna's last full day in London. They had an eleven o'clock train to catch the next morning. Mrs. Patmore was eager to get back, even though she would be wearing protective glasses for several days after the successful surgery. Her kitchen was currently being managed by a stranger, and it was often the topic of conversation during Anna's daily visits. The day after seeing Mrs. Bates, Anna had felt as if the sun had finally peeked through after months of rain. She wanted to tell the world of Mr. Bates' innocence, but that would have to wait. There was one more person she had to see while she was here.

After days of careful, dedicated work, Anna succeeded in altering one of Lady Sybil's old day skirts, a Christmas gift, to fit her. The hem was raised, the waist pulled in, and although Anna's simple coat didn't quite match the skirt's quiet elegance, she felt confident as she walked to the address she'd promised herself she'd never return to.

The iron gate to London's Foundling Hospital was less intimidating this time, and only the slightest strain of embarrassment crossed her mind as she approached the small booth at the front with its gatekeeper.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Laurence," she said. Two years ago, she'd sounded so small saying almost the same words. Full of fear that, somehow, she'd be denied access after all the work she'd done to get there.

He looked her up and down, just like before, but this time seemed quite pleased, even impressed by her appearance.

"Name?"

"Anna Smith."

"Miss?"

She nodded. He made a note in his ledger, checked what must have been a list of authorised appointments, and opened the gate.

"The right building. Second floor, the door to the left."

"Thank you."

The last time she'd come it had been the tail end of a particularly cold, wet winter, and the place had seemed almost austere, though not unwelcoming. Now, the sun reflecting off the many windows to her right and left on the large sides of the east and west wings of the hospital added hope and life to the place. She was encouraged to see, at the end of the long and wide pea-stone path, a crocodile line of young boys, led by a tall man, walk from one door to another further along the left wing. They were all neatly dressed in their simple monochromatic attire, with healthy complexions, some dawdling at the back.

After a long, solitary walk down the path she found the clearly marked entrance to the right wing and its staircase, just inside, with no trouble. There was no secretary in this part of the hospital, unlike her visits to the other wing two years ago. The kitchens couldn't be far off, for the smell of warm, fresh bread lingered in the air. After a moment's hesitation, and mustering some inner strength she thought might be necessary, she knocked, and was immediately told to enter.

Mr. Laurence stood when he saw her, although she wasn't sure if he would have done so two years ago upon a first meeting.

"Good afternoon, Miss Smith," he said. "We meet at last."

He was younger than she'd imagined, even handsome. His letters, so succinct and official, hadn't prepared her for the man's easy manner when he approached her to shake her gloved hand. "Please, sit."

She did. "Thank you for seeing me."

"I was glad when I received your request. There are some things we need to discuss."

"Why?" Her heart sped up at his serious tone. "Is everything all right?"

He sat behind his desk. "Perfectly all right. Not to worry."

"Oh. Good." She had never asked the question in her equally brief letters. Now she thought those two sentences could get her through anything. "I'm rarely in London, so I wanted the chance to speak to you face to face, Mr. Laurence."

"Is this about the adoption?"

She nodded.

"Miss Smith," he began, sounding resigned, "as I said in my first letters three...two years ago now, there are very few children who leave the hospital before they're grown. Some are taken back by their mothers once they have the means and...circumstance to do so. But even that is rare. Is that your intention?"

"No. I only want to know if there's anything I can do to...better her chances. Is there anyone I can contact who might be willing to take in a child?"

He folded his hands. "Miss Smith, the very fact that your daughter is alive, healthy, and safe is something not all children can boast about before the age of three, even in 1914. Your decision to bring her here makes her more privileged than other girls in her...situation."

Anna nodded. "And what will happen to her when she grows up and tries to make her way in the world?"

"The girls are taught rudimentary skills in housework and cooking, sewing, and given an academic and religious education until the age of sixteen. Some, eighteen. We've had girls hired out as governesses. Some petition to stay on here, working in some capacity. Some go into service, others to the workhouse." He cleared his throat. "Which is why we need to speak about your monthly...contributions. Forgive me, Miss Smith, but are you sending _all_ of your wages to me to set aside for her?"

She swallowed and looked at her lap for a moment. "I want her to have at least something once she's older. She'll need help. And I don't need most of it."

"Have you considered that beginning her adult life with years worth of your money after never having any of her own could be dangerous? She wouldn't know how to manage it."

"But I couldn't…leave her nothing," Anna protested. "What will she think of me?"

He was quiet for a moment. "She will think what all the foundlings think, even though we encourage them to view things differently."

"And what is that?"

"That you gave her up. Abandoned her. She will envy every child she sees with parents, with relatives of any kind." He sighed when tears appeared in Anna's eyes. "We tell them repeatedly that their mothers' decision was for their own well being. That if it weren't for the Foundling Hospital, the hard work their mothers' put in to place them here, their lives would be infinitely more difficult. You've heard the stories, Miss Smith. Women using laudanum to quiet their babies during the workday. Growing up in a workhouse. Dying before their first birthday."

Anna closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes. I know."

"We do what we can for them here," he continued. "It's no finishing school, but it's better than an overcrowded orphanage. And, if they're lucky, a charitable family will take in a child. It's rare, but it has been known to happen."

She refused to cry, though she desperately wanted to. "Then I can still hope?"

"Yes. There is always hope."

London, 1912

Cold. Like a slap across her cheek as she waited her turn outside the Foundling Hospital for a good hour. After a letter of application three weeks ago, she had been granted a first interview. She wore dark colours, already preparing for a different strain of mourning. The baby was with Mrs. Anderson at the boarding house, warm and safe. Mrs. Anderson, who'd sent for the midwife when she realised, one morning in January, that the discreet young woman renting one of the upstairs rooms was hours away from giving birth, and hadn't intended on telling a soul.

Suddenly, it was her turn. The gatekeeper looked her over. Neatly styled hair, clean clothes, gloved hands. She couldn't yet lace her corset all the way, but she doubted he would notice such a thing with her coat pulled tightly around her. Appearing satisfied, he opened the gate and let her in.

"To the left. First door. The secretary will help you from there."

"Thank you," she said as steadily as possible. She shivered all the way to the door and tapped her shoes clean of slush and mud at the bottom of the stairs.

After another spell of waiting by a secretary's desk during which she regained some warmth, the door to Mr. Davies' office opened, her name called as a teary woman clutching a baby, flushed with fever, hurried out.

Inside she was faced by a panel of men, all of them old enough to be her father, save one, who sat at the far left of the table. A single chair designated where she was to sit, alone, in front of them.

"I am Mr. Davies'," the man at the centre said, looking at a thin stack of papers. "These are members of the board of admissions. This interview will be brief, Miss Smith, and we expect you to answer each question honestly, as well as any following questions we may have."

"Yes, sir."

"If this interview is successful, we shall require you to give at least one reference whom we may contact, to vouch for your character. Ideally, a former employer, a relative. Will you be able to provide such a reference?"

"Yes, sir."

He nodded. "Let's begin. Is this your first child?"

"Yes, sir."

The young man at the end of the table made a note on the paper in front of him.

"Where did you first see the father of your child, and in what manner did your acquaintance come about?" Mr. Davies asked.

"He works as a valet. We met when he accompanied his employer on a visit to the house where I worked. As the head housemaid," she added, hoping the position might somehow help her case.

"And where did you reside when you were seduced?"

She felt her cheeks warm. "At Mayfield Hall."

A small note from the young man after every answer.

"What led to your seduction?" Mr. Davies asked, all business. Her stomach flip-flopped, her mouth dry.

"Nothing, sir. I did not encourage his advances," she managed to say, looking at her hands.

"Was the intercourse repeated?"

Her eyes burned like she was in a room of butchered onions. Nothing had prepared her for questions like these, asked so casually. At least there was no obvious tone of judgement or disdain in the man's voice. He did this multiple times a day, all year. She looked up, looked him straight in the eyes."No. Never."

"When did you first find yourself pregnant?"

"In August of 1911." Horror at the revelation, thinking she would do anything to rid herself of it. Anything.

"Did you inform the father?"

"No, sir. I have not seen him since…"

"And, should you be relieved of your child, what do you intend to do to gain a livelihood?"

"I've worked as a maid for eight years," she said. "I intend to find a new post."

"Very well," Mr. Davies finished. He glanced at the other men in the room. "Does the board have any questions for Miss Smith?"

There was some murmuring while she remained stuck to the chair, her hands trembling. She placed one over the other on her lap to still them, the taxing exposure of her shame during the interview threatening to make her faint. After giving birth, she'd thought she could easily get through anything. She was shocked to find herself nearly as distressed sitting still on a wooden chair and answering Mr. Davies' invasive questions.

"Why have you not brought the child with you to the interview?" an old man with a grey beard asked. "Is it ill?"

"No, sir. I thought it too cold to bring her. Should I have?"

The man looked at another, who shrugged. "It's not compulsory."

"Now, may I please have the name and address of the reference I can contact?"

She gave him Mrs. Munsey's name, knowing that the housekeeper would give her a sufficient reference, despite what she'd referred to in October as Anna's "severe lapse in judgement".

And that was it. It was done. At least, the first part. Anna walked back to the boarding house in somewhat of a daze. Weak, but wanting nothing more than to hold her baby. When she finally got back to the boarding house the sun was setting, the hem of her skirt soaked with snow. Once inside she bore the awkward stares from some of the other residents having their tea as she ducked through the sitting room back to the warmth of the kitchens. The baby was sound asleep in a wicker basket surrounded by fresh laundry, still wrapped in her blue blanket. Mrs. Anderson's fifteen year-old daughter, Meg, sat close by.

"Are you all right, Miss Smith?"

"Of course I am," she said, as cheerfully as she could manage. "What are you reading?" She took off her gloves and stuffed them in her coat pocket.

The girl flipped over the book to reveal the embossed title on the dark green cover. "A Little Princess," she said.

Anna smiled. "Will you tell me if it's any good after you've finished it?"

Meg nodded. "If you like."

Anna leaned down and picked up the baby, who slept on, and after a few more words with Meg took her upstairs to the small room she'd been renting for almost three months. It was small, a little drafty, and all Anna needed. She lay her daughter on the small bed and removed her damp coat and shoes, unbuttoning her blouse while the baby squirmed a little, making disgruntled noises, waking. Anna nursed her on the bed, the comforting lethargy of it setting in as she treasured the bundle of warmth in her arms. Her daughter's sparkly eyes looking up at her, tiny hand on her breast, contented noises. How could she ever give this up?

London, 1914

A rush of adrenaline woke Anna just before dawn. For the first time in two years she felt a phantom heaviness in her breasts. Wiping her face, she realised she must have been crying in her sleep. It had happened before, only she'd woken to Gwen's concerned face as she stood beside her bed, asking Anna what was wrong. When Anna turned over, the maid whose room she shared was still snoring lightly. Too shaken to sleep, to even close her eyes, lest she see the baby's face again, so clearly, Anna stayed awake. Knowing that with the information she'd acquired from his mother, Mr. Bates would likely be staying on at Downton helped calm her nerves. She tried to think only of that for the duration of the journey back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Foundling Hospital was a real establishment that took in illegitimate children. The questions Anna was asked are some of the same questions other women were asked in one of a few interviews they might have in order for their child to be received by the institution.


	9. Chapter IX

Part One

The sight of Yorkshire in all its unapologetic green summer glory appeared after six hours of travel, thin rivers like silver threads woven through the fields running beside the train. Mrs. Patmore chatted happily this time, wearing tinted glasses to protect her newly repaired vision until she was fully recovered. She was eager to regain control of her kitchen, certain that Mrs. Bird, her temporary replacement, had been a disappointment to the Crawleys, and that she had been sorely missed. The closer they got to Downton, the more relieved Anna felt. Never had she been so eager to return to a home, to friends.

On the walk back from the station she breathed in the warm, fresh air of the country, of farmland and dirt. She was glad for her hat, as the sun shone brightly onto her fair skin.

"You've been quiet as a churchmouse today," Mrs. Patmore said as Downton came into view.

"Have I?"

"I thought you'd be pleased to be back." Her voice took on a note akin to a tease. "I know Mr. Bates will be happy to see you."

Anna looked at her, but couldn't fully decipher the woman's expression behind her glasses. "Why do you say that?"

Mrs. Patmore only chuckled to herself, then changed the subject back to Mrs. Bird's subpar cooking.

* * *

After greeting Mrs. Hughes and the sparse amount of staff who happened to be in the servants' hall, the others still busy with their various duties in the house, Anna changed into her uniform and, telling no one and hoping she wouldn't be missed, headed to Lord Grantham's study. When she opened the door, he was at his desk and writing, just as she'd predicted.

"Carson," he said, not looking up from his work, "I've been meaning to-"

"Your lordship?"

He noticed her, somewhat surprised, as he rarely spoke with the maids. "Oh. Anna. You're back safely, then?"

"Yes, thank you, milord. And Mrs. Patmore's fighting fit again."

"'Fighting fit''s the phrase," he said, amused.

She fidgeted, hands balled into fists by her sides as she stood there, feeling awkward.

"Is something the matter?"

"I wanted to see your lordship because…"

"Please," he invited, sitting back a little and waving her further into the room.

She took some steps forward, her hands now relaxed. "While I was in London, I learnt something about Mr. Bates."

He twisted the cap back on his fountain pen and set it down, giving her his full attention. "Not bad, I hope."

She shook her head. "No. Not bad at all. I'd have told Mr. Carson, but I thought you might like to hear it from me first."

"Go on."

And she told him what she knew.

* * *

The servants' hall was more full now that everyone was finishing their tea and the two cooks, who had reached a truce and seemed to work efficiently together, started on the upstairs dinner. Famished after the long journey, Anna hoped there was some sort of biscuit or cracker she could eat before jumping straight back into work. No luck, as she walked into the dining room to find only some clean cups waiting to be filled.

"Anna!" Gwen said, smiling widely. "There you are."

"I went up to change," Anna explained, sitting beside her friend. "So, what did I miss while I was away?"

"Mr. Carson's got himself a telephone," William offered from across the table. Anna looked up after pouring her tea.

"Mr. Carson? A telephone?"

"In his pantry. His lordship wanted one for upstairs and downstairs."

"But who would he need to call?"

Gwen shrugged. "That's what William and I were wondering. Because whoever you want to speak to's got to have one, too, haven't they?"

"I suppose they'll be all around soon," Anna said. "In all the big houses, anyway."

The sound of footsteps accompanied by a cane drifted from the hall and Anna looked at the doorway in time to see Mr. Bates walk in, some of Lord Grantham's collars in his hand. She smiled, surprised at how quietly wonderful it made her feel to see him after only a week. The man who had confessed to a crime and gone to prison to spare someone else, who was risking his own job by not giving away a man who didn't deserve to stay. How curious. His eyes smiled back.

"I saw Mrs. Patmore had gotten back," he said, sitting beside her. "I wondered where you were."

"Upstairs, unpacking," she said as the others conversed with each other.

"And how was London? Was it an adventure?"

She smirked. "I wouldn't go that far. I'm just glad Mrs. Patmore's all right."

"You're all smiles," he remarked, amused.

Suddenly, one of the hallboys came crashing through the servants' hall, grabbing onto the doorframe.

"Where's Mr. Branson?" he asked, out of breath.

"In his garage, I expect," Gwen said. "What's the matter?"

"It's her ladyship. She needs the doctor!"

* * *

Daisy cleared the rest of the servants' tea quickly and quietly. Some sat, others stood. Mrs. Hughes and Gwen made trips upstairs with hot water, towels, and anything else Dr. Clarkson requested, and Miss O'Brien hadn't yet come down. The rest of their duties seemed to be on hold. No one had even gone to polish some silver, clean jewelry, or mend in the sewing room. Even the kitchen staff, preparing dinner, moved at a slower pace than usual, almost silently. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for news, although they knew, after hours, to not expect a positive outcome. Lady Grantham was miscarrying.

No one rang the bell for dinner to be served, and, when asked, Carson said the family would all take trays, and that Mr. Bates and Anna were to go help Lord Grantham and the girls undress. Of the three, Lady Mary had been particularly shaken.

"The worst part is that upon hearing the news, I immediately...resented it," she'd confessed, looking at Anna through the mirror at her vanity while Anna finished her plait. "I didn't wish any harm to anyone, but…"

"Milady, none of this is your fault."

Lady Mary turned around, the ribbon at the base of her plait only knotted, not bowed. "Anna, do you believe in God?"

As a servant, Anna was expected to not have any opinions of her own. They both knew that. But after all they'd been through together…

"I do, milady."

She looked Anna in the eyes, like an equal. "I'm never quite sure if I do, or not, but do you think..."

Anna's face softened. "I'd like to think God overlooks fleeting thoughts, milady."

The conversation troubled her as she went back downstairs, wondering if she'd said the right thing, if she'd even told the truth. She took the stairs slowly. A week ago, Lady Grantham had been expecting a baby. Now, there wouldn't even be a funeral for the tiny life, gone before it could even greet the world. Confusing, conflicting emotions swirled inside her.

At the dining table sat Miss O'Brien, off in some far away, dark world. Across from her was Mr. Bates, and Anna sat beside him. Much of the other staff was gathered around. Mr. Carson at his usual place, Mrs. Hughes in hers. Still, no one was mending, no one playing cards or otherwise distracting themselves. Even Mrs. Patmore was at the table; the kitchen, for once, silent.

"That poor wee babe," Mrs. Hughes said softly.

"How's her ladyship doing?" Gwen asked.

"I'll take her up a tray in a minute," Mrs. Hughes said, "but I dare say she won't touch a bite."

William's innocent eyes shone a bit. "What about you, Miss O'Brien?"

Her head jerked toward him. "What about me?"

"That must have been quite a shock."

"Y-yes. Yes it was."

Mr. Carson looked up at Mr. Branson, leaning in the doorframe. "I think you'd better dine with us, Mr. Branson. We can't know if you might be needed later."

The chauffeur nodded. "Well, I'm to go for the doctor at ten."

Behind Anna, Daisy sighed. She'd been quite shaken by the night's events. Thomas walked in, his eyes darting to Miss O'Brien, then around at the others.

"What a long-faced lot."

Mr. Carson bristled. "Kindly show some respect!"

"Come on, Mr. Carson," Thomas said, taking a biscuit from the small plate Mrs. Bird had laid out which, so far, no one had touched. "She'll get over it. They're no bigger than a hamster at that stage."

Anna felt as if the floor had fallen out from under her, and her hand, resting on the table, gripped at it. She couldn't look at anyone. If she moved her eyes from the table, she'd faint.

"Will you shut up?" Mr. Bates' voice was as solemn as a tomb.

"I agree," Mrs. Hughes said sharply. "What is the matter with you, Thomas?"

The footman was responding, but Anna only heard the suggestion of a voice. The strength and reaction must have come from some buried place inside her, because she was out of her chair and walking blindly into the hall, rushing to the servants' door, before she could form another conscious thought. All she heard now was the roar of blood in her ears. Even outside in the courtyard it was like trying to breathe on the moon.

All she could think of was the day she'd discovered or, rather, finally admitted to herself that she was pregnant. How the only thing she'd wanted in the world, for months, was some way to get rid of it. Maybe it would have been different, even though her reputation was already ruined for good, had it been conceived out of love. But knowing how it had been created, Anna thought she carried a monster. How could any God have let this happen, after how hard she'd fought the man off? Didn't her effort count for anything? How could God have allowed Master Edward to go so wrong that he'd murder his brother? What was the point of a devil if there was a God like that? Or maybe there was only the devil, she'd thought, the real God of the world. Or maybe there was nothing at all.

She'd beat at her stomach, leaving bruises, wanting to force the child out before it grew too large, but it had been too late for that. Almost as soon as she'd come to terms with the news she'd started to show, and weeks later felt true movement after all the little confusing flutterings. Nothing could have prepared her, after the horror of birth, the pure anger inside of her at the injustice of it all, the sin and violence she'd associated with the thing growing inside her, for the crescendo of love she'd felt at the first sight of her daughter. How could she have ever thought those things, or been so cruel?

A hand on her shoulder.

"Anna?"

She startled a little, but let out a breath when she saw it was Mr. Bates, even in the dark. Her eyes were dry.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just...I've had a long day."

But his hand lingered. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, looking up to meet his eyes.

His hand left her. He didn't speak for a moment, perhaps hoping she'd change her mind and reveal what was really wrong. Mr. Bates knew she was lying. Guilt festered inside of her.

"It's probably the wrong time to say this," he said, "but I've spoken with his lordship."

"Oh yes?"

He nodded. "He told me you visited my mother. That she told you what happened."

"I had to find out the truth."

"But, you see, you don't know the whole truth, even now. You know my mother's truth."

"But not your wife's?" She looked at her hands for a moment, then back at him.

"No," he said, followed by a resigned sigh. "So, my guilt remains uncertain, doesn't it?"

"Not to me."

He sighed. "Well, the point is...I'm not leaving."

After all the months of worrying, and the fear that his mother's account would, in fact, reveal

him to be the thief he claimed to be, it was all, finally, resolved.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Really."

She felt a smile brighten her face like sunshine coming over a flower. Her dearest friend, one of

the two people she loved most in the world, wasn't going anywhere. It was probably the wrong time, but as his palm cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her cheekbone, all the thoughts about not being good enough for him faded away. In that moment, she didn't care about secrets. Her right hand covered his on her cheek and, after her nod, they kissed.

* * *

Part Two

July melted into a pleasant August, and palpable relief emanated from the kitchen staff as the day of the garden party dawned with a light breeze and lower temperatures. Of course, everything was well and good for the guests, dressed in their summer white, but the cool drinks and ices they would be served were always apt to warm in the sun minutes after being sent out. Everyone was especially grateful for Mrs. Bird, who had a surprisingly calming effect on Mrs. Patmore. It was her last week at Downton, and Anna thought even Mrs. Patmore might miss her when she returned to Crawley House.

The tents and most of the lawn chairs had been set up the night before, and after dressing the girls Anna went with the other maids to lay the dozens of pristine, freshly ironed tablecloths, and display the flower arrangements Lady Grantham had designed with her gardener. The servants' luncheon felt rushed, and from then on the work hadn't stopped. Carrying trays to and from the kitchen, making sure everything looked perfect before the footmen served it to the many guests, all under the watchful eye of Mrs. Hughes.

Mr. Bates, who couldn't serve and whose duties weren't really needed in any capacity during the the event itself, had been generously given the afternoon off, so Anna was surprised to see him standing in the sun by the service tent. She caught his eye and smiled, carrying a tea tray. A lilting waltz, played by a string quartet, drifted across the lawn from under the shade of a large tree.

"I didn't know a garden party was a spectator sport," she said, and set her tray with its clinking cups down on one of the tables inside the tent.

He smiled at her as she crossed back over to him. "Pretty, though, isn't it? Hard to believe the clouds are gathering on a summer's day like this."

Above them the sky, so clear and blue all day, was now indeed sprinkled with fluffy clouds, some grey at the edges.

Her right hand played with the left in front of her apron. "Mr. Bates, I know you think I was wrong to call on your mother."

"I don't think that," he insisted for the second time. "She likes you, by the way."

"I wonder how she knew my name. I didn't put it on the letter I sent her."

He only smiled, then reached into his pocket, holding up a letter. "This came for you in the afternoon post."

A footman came back with a tray of empty glasses. "Anna, take this, will you?" he said, a desperate look on his face, and handed it over without waiting for an answer.

"Slip it into my apron pocket," she said. "I'd better get on."

He tucked it into her pocket, careful not to touch her any more than was necessary to complete the operation. Anna giggled a little at his awkwardness, but they both looked up at the sound of Lord Grantham's voice as he called for everyone's attention. The quartet fell silent, the conversations faded off at the interruption. Anna stepped back into the tent to put down her tray.

Lord Grantham's voice carried over. "Can I please ask for silence?" Anna turned, standing still. A breeze came through, ruffling her skirts. Above her, the tent rippled. "Because I very much regret to announce...that we are at war with Germany."

No confused whispers followed, no one cried out that it couldn't be so. The announcement had been a long time coming, but who could have thought it would arrive like this -in broad daylight, with a waltz playing, on such a beautiful day? Everyone and everything was still for a moment as the world took in the news. Mr. Bates looked at her, the resignation in his eyes contrasting with the naïve worry of someone ignorant of war in hers. The guests soon began speaking again, this time surely about the war, and Anna went to Mr. Bates. When she discreetly took his hand, his firm grip surprised her. Neither spoke.

The garden party quickly dissolved before guests, especially the men, could begin requesting stronger drinks. The cleanup was carried out quietly and efficiently, although once it was done the staff couldn't help discussing what the future would bring. The younger boys looked frightened as the older ones talked about enlisting right away. The maids worried for their fathers and brothers, and the older staff sat rather solemnly at the dining table, halfheartedly sipping a very late afternoon tea. The day had darkened with each passing hour as more clouds covered the sky, adding to the already dreary atmosphere indoors.

While Thomas talked about his new job, Anna took out the letter from her pocket. No use putting off more bad news.

_Dear Ms. Smith,_

_It is with great pleasure that I write this letter, and I only wish I could have delivered the news in person while you were still in London. Two days after our appointment, I took it upon myself to meet with one of our generous patrons, and called your efforts to his attention. In future, you will not be required to write to me every three months. Your child has been taken in by our patron's son and his wife, both very kind people with no children of their own. They expressed a preference for the sum set aside for her to either be returned or taken as a donation to the hospital. Please reply with your decision. At present, I cannot offer you any more information, only my best wishes. You see, there is always hope._

_Respectfully yours,_

_P. Laurence_

Anna refolded the letter, fumbling a little as a whirlwind of emotions overtook her.

"Excuse me," she said, hoping her legs would support her as she stood from the table and left the room. She thought of the courtyard, but instead went to the boot room as the sound of thunder came from outside, soon followed by the fractured whispers of rain.

There, she held the folded paper to her chest, her heart feeling suddenly larger than her lungs. She'd dreamt of this moment for over two years. How the news would fill her with such joy. How all her worries would disappear. How simple life would be. Instead she felt a horrible tightness in her ribs as she desperately pushed any sadness deep inside of her. She couldn't cry at such glorious news, except the reality of what she'd done was hitting her like a gale. It was done. She'd created a whole person, and for two years had known exactly where to find her. Now her child could be anywhere, lost to her forever.

But unbridled joy crashed through the darkness. It was done. What she had wanted for her daughter, above everything else, was freedom. Freedom from destitution, from the inevitability of a life spent serving others. Her daughter could have her own worries, and hopefully would grow to treat everyone with respect, no matter who she was in relation to them, but she wouldn't have her mother's life. The thinness of childhood poverty. Living with unpunished murderers. Men who attacked women in the dark. Carrying corpses from bed to bed. Anna had to believe that, or she'd run mad.

* * *

Gwen was bursting with the excitement of finally getting a job as a secretary and, although Anna didn't want to tell her friend why she was also in such a good mood, neither could stop smiling and chatting as they got ready for bed. The shadow of war hung over them, but both were blind to it. Anna took the tin of hard violet-flavoured sweets she'd gotten for her birthday and shared them with Gwen in the candlelight, the window cracked in to let in cool air even as the rain continued to fall.

"Remember, you promised to write to me," Anna reminded her.

Gwen nodded. "I promise. I only hope all my skills will be good enough."

"They are. And you have some time to practice."

Gwen looked suddenly sad. "I'll miss you. You're such a good friend."

"Hey! Don't talk as if we'll never see each other again," Anna teased. "Who knows? Maybe one day I'll need a telephone."

"Really, Anna," Gwen said, taking another pastille, "you're the closest I've come to having a sister."

It was all so bittersweet. Anna felt the same way. "Me, too."


	10. Chapter X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains reference to sexual abuse and rape.

Chapter X

Part One

Though the war was still fresh in everyone's minds after barely five months, it still felt far away from Yorkshire as Christmas sparkled ahead of them, two days away. No snow had yet fallen, but a white sky hinted at it every day, a dry cold settling through the countryside. Since Gwen's departure in early September, Anna had been promoted to head housemaid. It was a position she was highly qualified for, and she took the extra work in stride, dressing all three girls without help from Miss O'Brien. Gwen's bed remained empty until Mrs. Hughes hired a new maid, called Ethel. Even after meeting and helping her settle in the night before, Anna still wasn't sure what to make of the young woman. Ethel was confident and spoke her mind, qualities Anna was sure she would admire in a different tone of voice, and under appropriate circumstances.

After dressing the girls for the morning, she headed back downstairs to send Betsy and Sophie to tidy the girls' bedrooms, but almost ran into Mrs. Hughes in the servants' staircase.

"Anna, there you are," the housekeeper said. "Would you mind taking Ethel along with you today? I would show her the house and explain how we do things myself, but I forgot to check the store cupboards, and-"

"Leave it to me, Mrs. Hughes. I have to see to the small library this morning, so we'll start there after the beds are made."

Mrs. Hughes sighed gratefully. "Oh, thank you. I'd forgotten all about that." She sighed. "It's always like this before Christmas. And now we're down two footmen..."

Anna smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. It always comes together in the end."

"We normally have everything done before the family wakes up," Anna told Ethel as they crossed the great hall upstairs, "but it's all at sixes and sevens today while we're decorating. I'll go through it with you tomorrow when we're back to normal." They each carried small baskets with supplies they'd need to clean with, a more portable alternative to the cart the scullery maid pulled with her from room to room in the early morning.

Ethel sighed. "I do know how to run a house. Don't the family help at all with the decorations?"

"They help with the tree once it's brought in. We do everything else. Christmastime is when I remember just how large the house is."

In the small library, they started on the two sofas that faced each other in front of the fireplace.

"We drop the cushions onto the floor to plump them up." Anna demonstrated as Ethel plumped one with her hands.

"I know," the other maid, taking another cushion and copying Anna.

The light jingle of keys announced the arrival of Mrs. Hughes, who must have finished with the store cupboards and come upstairs to check that all the rooms were in order.

"Ethel? Are you settling in?"

"I would be," she said, a cushion thumping to the floor, "if Anna'd stop teaching me how to suck eggs. I was head housemaid in my last position."

"You were senior housemaid, out of _two_ , in a much smaller house." Mrs. Hughes said. "Anna's the head housemaid here. It's her job to show you how things are done."

Even though Mayfield had been larger than Downton, Anna had still been grateful for Gwen's help in her first week. Each great house was different, with its own protocol and traditions to follow. Anna briefly thought about leaving Ethel to figure things out with the scullery maid, if she was so certain of things, but looked up when Mrs. Hughes approached her.

"Are they to come in here tonight?"

"Yes, although we'll have to move the drink cart from the red drawing room. I'll ask William to see to it," she said, making a mental note. "Mr. Carson says we're to keep them out of there, at least until the carpet is laid back down."

"We can do that," Anna offered. "William should have enough to worry about preparing the dining room. It won't take ten minutes."

"I wish Mr. Bates was coming back today, or he could have stood guard."

Anna smiled. "He wrote they'd be back by Wednesday at the latest, depending on how long his lordship could bear staying with Lady Rosamund."

Mrs. Hughes chuckled. "Well, the sooner the better, I say. Now, I'll let you get on."

"Who is this Mr. Bates?" Ethel asked as Mrs. Hughes left the room.

"His lordship's valet. They've been in London."

"Why?"

"Something to do with the war office," Anna said. She finished the sofa cushions.

"Only everyone talks about him as if he were king."

Anna smiled to herself. "Do they? That's nice to hear."

* * *

The servants' tea was a noisy affair that afternoon, the excitement of Christmas was as potent as the scent of yew, pine, and laurel now filling the great hall after the large staircase bannisters had been draped with them. The flower arrangements and tree were still to come. Before sitting herself, Anna went to the laundry, only a short walk past the courtyard, to fetch fresh sheets for the beds in the servants' quarters. It was a bitter cold but windless day, a light snow sifting out of a thin fog. Walking briskly, linens draped over her arms, she enjoyed the dose of fresh air, even if it was freezing. Happiness wrapped her in its blanket when she saw Mr. Bates walking toward the servants' entrance, traveling case in hand.

"Mr. Bates!" she called, her breath like smoke.

He turned, his eyes brightening, and she hurried a little.

"Why didn't you say you were coming?"

"I didn't know until today. Mead should have telephoned ahead," he said, referring to Lady Rosamund's butler at Belgrave Square. "Perhaps he didn't."

He looked at her, troubled, as she trembled with cold. "What are you doing outside without your coat?"

"Had to go to the laundry." She put a hand on his arm, rubbed it affectionately. "You're just in time for tea."

He leaned down and kissed her in a delayed greeting; gentle and quick, like they had a whole life of kisses ahead of them. Anna's eyes darted to the door, glad to see that they were mostly obscured by one of the great boxwood hedges at the end of the path before the courtyard.

"Come inside," she said, and they went the rest of the way together.

Mrs. Hughes sighed in relief at the sight of Mr. Bates when he followed Anna into the servants' dining room after hanging up his coat. "You've been missed, Mr. Bates."

"Have I?" he asked, surprised. "I don't hear that very often."

"Well, Thomas isn't here to be nasty," Anna joked.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Hughes said. "You were missed. And I know Mr. Carson would appreciate it if you could help with the silver," she added. "I don't think we realised what losing two footmen could do to the balance of things." Jack, a younger footman, had enlisted shortly after Thomas.

"I'm happy to help however I can," Mr. Bates said, taking his seat. Anna poured them both tea and sat next to him. Warmth spread through her at his generosity. Many a valet would find it beneath them to perform a task such as polishing silver.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "Do you want something?"

He shook his head. "I ate on the train."

"Well, I thank you," Mrs. Hughes said. "As you know, preparing for Christmas is, more often than not, a storm before the calm."

He chuckled in agreement, then turned his head, watching Anna spread some butter across a slice of bread. She looked up.

"So, did you have time to see her?"

He nodded. "She's doing well. I think the letter alarmed us more than it should have." A month ago, Mr. Bates had received a letter from Lizzie, the maid who helped his mother in London, saying Mrs. Bates had been ill with a cough, but hadn't wanted to bother her son with it. The chance to go to London didn't come often, and Anna had urged him to visit his mother if he had the time while he traveled with Lord Grantham.

"Still, I'm glad you went."

"She asked after you."

"That's kind." Anna smiled softly, then remembered something as Miss O'Brien sat down across from them with some mending. "Oh, what about the other thing?"

"In my case. I'll bring it down after I unpack. You should have seen the look on the shopkeeper's face. I'd like to think it had to do with my limp, not the fact that I was buying lace."

Anna smirked. "I'm sure she won't be too traumatised."

"What lace?" Miss O'Brien asked.

"For the trim on one of Lady Edith's shirts." Anna said. "I sent poor Mr. Bates to pick it up instead of sending away for it. But he survived."

* * *

The day wore on, full of things to do, and after sending Betsy, now unofficially second in command under Anna, up to help clear the family's dinner, Anna finally had a good half-hour to work on some of the girls' wool skirts. All three had been riding in the past week, and the hems needed mending after coming back from the laundry. The sewing room was an enjoyable place to work. The staff mostly came in and out to take supplies and mend at the dining table so they could chat while they worked, but sometimes Anna liked to work in the room with its rainbow wall of threads and fabrics and wide table. She was surprised, then, to find Mr. Bates, of all people, at one side of the table, a stack of uniforms beside him.

"What are you doing in here?"

He didn't look up, applying a small dot of a white paste to the inside of the army-green jacket.

"Trying to get the mothballs out of his lordships old uniforms," he said, his brow knit in concentration.

She lay the skirt and her button box on the table and went to examine the various threads. "Is he back in the army, then?"

"He thinks he is, which isn't quite the same thing."

Anna found a spool of grey thread and returned to her place. "They won't send him to the front, will they?"

Mr. Bates shrugged, finally looking at her. "At this point, I doubt it. But war is unpredictable, no matter how certain we are of what will come to pass."

She threaded her needle. "Mr. Bates?"

"Yes?" he said, mimicking her hesitant tone.

"Would you go, if it weren't for...?"

Again, he focussed on his work. "It's difficult to watch all the young men go off to fight, knowing you can't follow to serve your country."

"All of us here know you've already done the country a great service." Her voice was soft.

"Perhaps."

"William's father won't let him enlist."

"He loves him," Mr. Bates said simply.

"Still, he's very cut up over it." Anna pinned the hem on the skirt. "Even if it does make him the first footman."

They worked in silence for several minutes, the sound of Mr. Bates scrubbing at invisible marks, Anna shuffling through her button box for a thimble, down the hall dishes clattering as Daisy set the dining table.

"I'm ever so glad you won't be going," Anna said, finally revealing what she'd been thinking ever since the garden party in August. She'd felt so relieved she could cry when she'd made the connection, soon after the announcement, that because of Mr. Bates' injury it was highly unlikely he would participate in the war in any military capacity. He looked at her, his brow crinkling in concern. She sniffed, holding back rogue tears, and went around the table to him.

He put an arm around her. "Don't cry."

She chuckled, her cheek against his chest. "I'm not."

* * *

For many of the staff, living and working at Downton Abbey was the biggest step up they would take in their life. Christmases at home would have been modest, with some families just scraping by. At Downton, even the downstairs' luncheon was a feast, and each had a spot at the table designated for any cards and small gifts they might receive, usually snuck in after breakfast on Christmas day and left until luncheon. Anna, able to use more of her wages now that she wasn't sending the bulk of them away, made and bought things for several of her friends, and even sent an embroidered handkerchief to Gwen in an echo of the gift she'd received for her first Christmas at Downton.

On Christmas morning they awoke to a lawn dusted with snow like confectioner's sugar over a spice cake, the servants' bedroom windows spidered with frost. On her way down to the servants' hall Anna wondered about her daughter. What her Christmases would look like compared to Anna's growing up. If she'd have a tree, sing carols.

In the hall, empty save the sounds of the kitchen staff, she adjusted her apron, brushing out invisible wrinkles.

"Happy Christmas."

She cried out a little in surprise and turned, a hand on her chest. "Mr. Bates! You made me jump!"

Mr. Bates' eyes crinkled at the edges.

"Happy Christmas." She looked both ways, stood on her toes to kiss his freshly shaved cheek, and quickly walked into the dining room, where some of the staff were already sitting.

"Anna, I have to put you on alert for dinner tonight," Mr. Carson said during breakfast, sounding highly disgruntled.

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "His lordship won't mind a maid in the dining room, Mr. Carson. Besides, it's only the family and the Dowager this year."

"And Mrs. Crawley," Mr. Carson added.

"She's the one _least_ likely to notice the absence of a second footman."

"Who's Mrs. Crawley?" Ethel asked.

"Mr. Matthew Crawley's mother. He's the heir," Betsy explained. "But he's away at the front."

Anna wondered if Mr. Crawley would have been at Christmas dinner were he not away. He had parted on poor terms with Lady Mary after the garden party. He'd rarely been up at the big house after that day, and had enlisted by mid-September. Since then, Lady Mary had been quieter when Anna was with her, although the night after the garden party her eyes had been red, her voice scratchy as Anna undressed her for bed.

"Which is where I should be," William said bitterly. "I should be over there, not celebrating like there isn't a war on."

"We know there's a war on," Miss O'Brien said. "You remind us every morning, noon, and night."

"Leave him alone," Mr. Bates said, not unkindly. "It's brave of him to want to serve his country."

William looked as if, for the first time, he had been truly understood. "Thank you, Mr. Bates."

A moment of quiet, only spoons against dishes, before the bells started ringing.

* * *

After all her morning tasks were over and the family had thanked the servants and given them presents, Anna went to her room and put aside the bolt of fabric she'd been given by Lady Mary, changed into her afternoon uniform, and went downstairs. In the servants' dining room everyone was in high spirits, opening their gifts around the table. Her mouth opened in surprise when she saw the modest pile at her place, between Ethel and Mr. Bates. Beside the handmade cards, pair of blue gloves, and bar of rose-scented soap was a large, beautiful orange. She took it in her hand, brushing her fingers over the pebbly skin.

"Thank you, Anna," Miss O'Brien said from across the table, holding the small sachet of lavender and card. For once, her unpleasantness seemed to have been put aside in favour of politeness.

Anna nodded. "You're welcome."

"Where in wonderland did you find that?" Mrs. Patmore asked Anna, wiping her hands on her apron as she came to check if they were finished opening gifts. "I haven't seen an orange like that in months! Look at the size of it!"

Anna shuffled through her cards. "There's no card."

Mrs. Patmore put her hands on her hips. "Whoever found an orange like that during wartime when I couldn't get any larger than the palm of my hand for the upstairs dinner better come forward!"

The room quieted, but no one admitted to being the gift giver.

"Mrs. Patmore, you can use it if you-"

The cook shook her head. "Don't be silly. It's yours. I only wish I could have found some like that for the punch." She huffed and went back to the kitchen, and the chatter began again. Mrs. Hughes caught Anna's eye when she walked in from the hall. Seeing the orange in Anna's hand, she smiled slightly, looking to Mr. Bates, then back at Anna, before sitting at her usual place.

Feeling her cheeks warm, Anna set the orange down and went to find Betsy to thank her for the gloves.

While everyone, for once, took their time eating their luncheon, Anna looked at Mr. Bates.

"You really shouldn't have," she said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She smirked.

"Although I also received something that came with no note," he said. "Curious, isn't it?"

"What was it?"

His eyes were merry. "A book, of all things."

"And have you already read it?" she asked, playing his game.

He shook his head. "No, but I look forward to doing so."

* * *

At night, thin sheets wrapped all around her and tucked between her knees where the bones had rubbed together uncomfortably since childhood, Anna dreamt of them together. Kisses that went further than politeness, though she'd only experienced one of those in her life with a particularly eager footman when she was eighteen at Henley, and found it a sticky business. But Mr. Bates wasn't a twenty-year old footman, and she was no longer a naïve housemaid who thought she had a beau. This was love as she'd never known it.

What the older housemaids had talked about. Going to bed with a man. The beauty of it. "Some pain." All gleanings from romance novels, but Anna wanted to believe them. There must be some truth to it, after all. She imagined undressing in front of him, offering all that she had, and knew he'd think her body perfect, even without the proportions most men thought desirable.

There would be no uncomfortable fumblings with only the barrier of her dress while she hissed and batted at the work-worn hands to stop, praying that this would be the last time. That after she told her mother it had started again, there would be a stop to it.

No walking up the servants stairs, aching all over, wiping between her legs and down her thighs in the moonlight, her hands shaking, knowing she was ruined forever, and she couldn't tell a soul. That night she hadn't even cried, not afterward, anyway. Just lay in bed, breathing shallowly. She remembered looking at herself in the mirror the next morning, dressed for the day. So much violence, and it was all covered by her uniform. No one would know. Who would even believe her?

Anna sat up in bed, brushing sleep from her eyes, feeling overheated and ashamed.

_Wake up from your dream world,_ she told herself. _You're a fool._

* * *

Part Two

Spring brought another birthday and another tragedy.

"It's just like the Titanic, isn't it?" Daisy asked while the news circulated over teatime. She was sat at the table with them, shelling peas.

Miss O'Brien scoffed. "Except for the small fact that the Lusitania was sunk by German torpedos. It didn't just bump into an iceberg in the middle of the north Atlantic."

"Did they have enough lifeboats?" William asked.

"Looks like it sunk too quickly to save most of those on board," Mr. Bates said grimly, turning the page of his newspaper.

Anna sighed. "What a dreadful thing."

"Will his lordship know anyone on it this time?" Daisy asked suddenly.

Miss O'Brien scoffed again. "What, do you think we're likely to put another heir on an ocean liner after that business?"

Nobody spoke up to remind the room that Mr. Crawley was currently in France, fighting in the trenches, in more danger than he ever would be on a passenger ship.

Mrs. Patmore ducked her head in. "Where's the batter for the pancakes?"

"It's in the cold larder," Daisy said.

Ethel looked up from filing her nails. "Are we having pancakes tonight?"

"Upstairs dinner. Crêpes Suzettes."

Ethel gasped in excitement. "Oh! I've always wanted to try those. Could you save me some? If they don't finish them all?"

Mrs. Patmore took a step forward. "Save you some Crêpes Suzettes?"

"If you don't mind. What are we having?"

"Lamb stew and semolina."

Ethel sighed. "Are we always to have stews?"

"Are you always to complain about what's being served, dear? It's been six months, and I'm sure all of us have had quite enough of it!" Mrs. Patmore said testily, turning around to return to the kitchens. "Daisy! Hurry up!"

"Would you like to sleep in her ladyship's bedroom, while you're at it?" Miss O'Brien asked.

Ethel didn't miss a beat. "I wouldn't mind. I hate sharing a room. I didn't in my last place."

"There were only two maids and a cook." Anna looked up from her work and glanced at Mr. Bates. He didn't move, but his eyes lifted from the page to look at her, smirking behind his paper at Ethel's petty complaint.

"I'm just saying."

"You've got a cheek," Miss O'Brien said.

Ethel put down her mending, which she hadn't made much progress on despite sitting there for twenty minutes. "I don't see why. I want the best, and I'm not ashamed to admit it."

"And you think we don't?"

"I think it's hard to change at your age," Ethel said. Anna exchanged a look with William down the table. He raised his eyebrows. "I don't blame you, but I suppose in the end I want to be more than just a servant."

Miss O'Brien gave her an icy glare, then got back to her mending.

* * *

"You look very preoccupied, Mr. Bates," Anna said, finding him at the servants' dining table between the family's second and third course upstairs. She took off the white gloves she wore while serving. Normally, he would be busy in the boot room or working on something, but there was nothing in front of him, not even a book. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He looked up from his brooding. "I had a letter this afternoon."

"Yes?"

"It'll keep."

She checked the clock on the wall. "No. Tell me. I've got time." She went to sit beside him.

"It was from my mother's maid, Lizzie. She wrote to tell me that Mother's gotten worse. Much worse." He took a folded letter from his breast pocket and handed it to Anna. She opened it and scanned the contents.

"You must...ask his lordship for time off. She needs to see a specialist," she said firmly.

"I can't leave his lordship in the lurch. Not with only one footman."

Anna shook her head. "Then I'll go. If it can't be you, it'll be me."

"What about the girls?"

"Mrs. Hughes can manage with help from Betsy. Though I've a good mind to ask his lordship and Mr. Carson for you."

"I can write to Lizzie…ask her if she could"

"No," Anna insisted. "It'll be either you or me."

"Anna, we're clearing before the fish," William called down the stairs.

She smiled a little sadly, and rubbed Mr. Bates' arm to reassure him. She stood, slipped her gloves on again, and went upstairs to help clear.

* * *

Anna was lucky enough to be granted two days off the coming week, and with help from Mrs. Bates' maid arranged an appointment with a specialist who could give more insight into the old woman's painful chest cold that came and went. It was Sunday, and her train left early the next morning, but there were still last minute tasks she wanted to finish before the morning. She wasn't needed in the dining room if only the family were eating, so Anna came out to the kitchen courtyard to rest for a moment, taking some air, before going back inside.

"I thought you would be in the boot room," she said, surprised to find Mr. Bates outside and sitting down on a crate looking as he had after being accused of stealing the wine over a year ago.

"Not tonight," he said, making room when she sat beside him, eyes on the peachy sky as the sun set.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You, actually," he said, looking at her.

She smirked, assuming he was teasing. "What about me, then?"

His eyes moved over her face. "About how wrong it feels to...hide this."

She grew serious. "Hide what?"

"I've thought a great deal about it, and I just don't think it's right, sneaking around with you. Not even my own mother knows, and I want her to. I'm a grown man."

"And I'm not a grown woman?" she asked, defensive, feeling the world crumbling around them.

"You are. That's what I'm trying to say. Not very eloquently, apparently."

She searched his eyes, trying to find what he was getting at. And then it came to her, as wonderful and frightening as love. "Mr. Bates, is this a proposal?"

He was still serious. "If that's what you want to call it." Then his eyes lightened. "And you might start calling me John."

A smile tugged at her lips. She never wanted to leave this moment; one she'd both dreaded and dreamt of.

"Will we have to leave Downton?"

"Not until we want to," he said, taking her hand. "I've spoken with his lordship, and he will find a cottage for us near the house."

Her eyes widened. "You told him you want to marry me?"

"I did."

"Before you spoke to me?"

His face froze for a moment, worry washing over it. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course I mind!" she said, laughing a little. "In fact, I'd give you a smack if I didn't want to kiss you so much I could burst."

A few tears gathered in her eyes, but she felt them spill over when the hand not holding hers cupped her cheek, his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of her neck, and they kissed. This one lasted longer than the others, their mouths moving together, until she pulled back slightly. A chuckle as she wiped her cheeks.

"Is that a yes?"

For a moment, she was speechless, then she chuckled nervously. "Let me catch my breath first."

An expectant smile while he waited.

Suddenly, reality came to her in a rush. Could she marry him without telling him? She'd imagined telling him a hundred times. Sometimes he didn't react at all except to welcome her with open arms. Others, he'd looked at her like she'd caught him in the worst of lies. Plenty of people had secrets, but hers were unpardonable in any respectable society. What would he think of her, once he knew? He'd never see her the same way again. He'd said so himself, years ago. _It'll change the way we think of him_ , he'd said of Mr. Carson. _It always does._

"Anna?"

"I…would you mind if I thought it over?" she asked, watching his heart break while the words tripped awkwardly out of her mouth.

For him, there was nothing to think over. Clearly, they had been friends since the first day they'd met, and love had snuck upon them not long after. Some days she wasn't sure where their friendship had turned to love, it had evolved so naturally. She was freshly twenty-nine, and good men weren't like buses. There wouldn't be another in ten minutes time. In Mr. Bates' mind, there was no reason why she should refuse him.

His eyes betrayed him, hurt registering immediately. "You don't have to leave service, if that's what's worrying you," he said.

She stood, her hands fluttering by her sides. "No, it's not that."

Mr. Bates sighed. "I'm sorry that I spoke with his lordship before you. I shouldn't have said anything to him until I had your answer." He stood beside her.

Her bottom lip began to tremble. "You've done nothing wrong. I was just being silly."

Calm hands found her nervous ones, stilling them. "Of course you can think it over, Anna," he said gently. "Take as much time as you need."

Relief flooded through her. She looked up at him gratefully. "You're not cross?"

He smiled, though it was a bit strained. "I could never be cross with you."

The servants' door opened. "Anna?" Mrs. Hughes sounded slightly put out. "There you are. Can you come inside, please?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hughes!" Anna called, giving Mr. Bates a tight smile before leaving him.

"Goodness, Anna, you're flushed," Mrs. Hughes remarked. "Are you well?"

Anna nodded. "Of course. Perfectly well."

* * *

Uncomfortable tension simmered between them at the dinner table, unnoticeable to everyone else. Anna conversed more than she usually did with the others in an attempt to continue on as if nothing had changed, though Mr. Bates was quiet, and didn't linger long after the meal, excusing himself to finish some work in the boot room. It might have been an invitation for Anna to meet him there, but she didn't take him up on it right away, instead staying at the table across from Ethel.

"What are you reading?" Daisy asked, going around to clear the cups from the table.

Ethel didn't look up from her magazine. "Photoplay about Mabel Normand. She was nothing when she started, you know. Her father was a carpenter and they'd no money. And now she's a shining film star."

"Anna," Mrs. Hughes said from the doorway, "would you come with me for a moment?"

Anna looked up, surprised to hear her name. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes." She stood and followed the housekeeper to her office and, once they were both inside, Mrs. Hughes shut the door behind them.

"Why don't you take a seat," Mrs. Hughes said, gesturing to the chair across from hers at a small table.

"Is something the matter?" Anna asked, sitting. "Have I done something wrong?"

The older woman shook her head. "Of course not. I'd only like to ask you if I'd...interrupted something earlier? When I called you inside?"

Anna shifted in the chair, her hands in her lap.

"Because although I'd never imagine it in Mr. Bates' character, if he was misbehaving-"

"No," Anna said, cheeks warm again. "No. He would never…" She didn't know if Mrs. Hughes knew, or even suspected anything, but she couldn't hold it in. "Actually, he proposed."

A smile spread over Mrs. Hughes' face. "Well, it's about time!"

Anna's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"I'm old fashioned enough to believe in a courtship lasting more than a few months, but I was starting to wonder if he would wait for the war to end before asking you."

"So, you don't mind?" Anna asked in disbelief, remembering Mr. Carson's first warning that she was to have no male visitors, and his conversation with Mrs. Hughes behind a closed door debating if Anna was too pretty to hire.

"Mind?" The housekeeper laughed. "I think it's wonderful news. I'll be sorry to lose you, though, if you're planning on leaving."

"That's just it," Anna said nervously. "I haven't accepted him yet."

Mrs. Hughes' eyes widened. "Why in the world not?"

"Because I...I have a good reason for not marrying."

Mrs. Hughes scoffed. "I should think love trumps any other reason."

"You don't understand," Anna said. "I can't marry him."

"Why not?"

Anna sighed.

"You don't have to tell me," Mrs. Hughes said, "it's really none of my business."

"I need to tell someone," Anna said suddenly, because it was true. Things had gone too far now. She wasn't just in love with someone. She was one word away from deciding to marry him. The dream of a future, so long coveted, was real and at her fingertips. Someone needed to know. Someone she could trust.

Mrs. Hughes' brow knit, perhaps confused at the desperation in Anna's voice. "All right, then."

Anna glanced at the door. "Don't you have to lock up?"

"It can wait," Mrs. Hughes said gently.

The clock in the room ticked once, twice. A deep breath. "I've been with someone already," Anna said, looking at her hands in her lap, then back at Mrs. Hughes. "It was only once, but...it happened."

"Well…" Mrs. Hughes couldn't conceal her surprise, no matter how much she tried.

"And it was a long time ago, before I met Mr. Bates."

"The letters…?"

Anna shook her head. "No. Those were...no."

"But then...why would it matter now?"

"Because I'd have to tell him, and I'm afraid...Would he still want me, after he knew?" Her chest was tight. "And how could he forgive me for lying to him all this time?"

Mrs. Hughes sighed, almost impatiently. "First of all, Mr. Bates would forgive you anything. If you broke his good leg he'd probably apologise and say it was his own fault. And second…" She looked uncomfortable. "Why would you have to tell him?Surely... _that_...doesn't matter _so_ much anymore. He won't be-" She cleared her throat. " _He_ won't be going to bed with someone for the first time, either."

"Mrs. Hughes, for me...for me there wasn't a bed. I...I tried to make him stop, but I couldn't." At the shock in the woman's eyes, her speechlessness, the tears finally came, though Anna brushed them away. "And I feel dirty. What if I couldn't let him touch me? I'm not good enough for him."

"But why say that? Of course you are!"

"And then I had a baby, Mrs. Hughes," she said in a rush, whispered. "A little girl. And I gave her up."

"My God!" Mrs. Hughes gasped, then recovered. "This is...quite a lot to take in."

"And how could _anyone_ ever forgive me that?" Now Anna was truly crying, but she kept her fingers over her mouth to cover the sounds. Mrs. Hughes moved her chair to sit beside Anna, tentatively wrapping an arm around her, which only made Anna cry harder.

"Shh," Mrs. Hughes said, squeezing her a little. After her confession, Anna wouldn't be surprised if she was fired on the spot. It had been enough at Mayfield, although then her pregnancy had been weeks away from showing, and the housekeeper hadn't believed her story. "Shh."

Anna sat up straight, took the handkerchief Mrs. Hughes offered, and wiped at her eyes and nose. She chuckled bitterly, looking at the housekeeper, exhausted from keeping the secret in for so long. "So, there you have it. My hidden life. I'm ruined, aren't I?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "I won't listen to that! _You_ weren't in the wrong. As a matter of fact, you don't need Mr. Bates' forgiveness for any of it. I know he's not exactly an open book to the rest of us, but the Mr. Bates I know would marry you even if you were toothless and walked down the aisle covered head to toe in cow manure."

Anna chuckled. "I don't know about all that."

"What have you told him?" Mrs. Hughes removed her arm from around Anna and sat back.

"Nothing. That is, nothing of what I've told you. I told him I'd think it over while I was in London."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Well, it's not my secret, and I can't tell you what to do. Just know that I think you two would be very happy together, no matter what. The past is the past."

Anna smiled, still unsure. "I hope that's true. And thank you, Mrs. Hughes. For listening."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I botched about three episodes from two separate seasons together here, which was a headache, but hopefully it all read smoothly enough. I decided to not go for a time jump to 1916 (the sinking of the Lusitania was in May of 1915, if anyone cares). I decided to involve Ethel just for some zest, even though in the show she doesn't arrive until 1916. Also, sorry for the writing being pretty dialogue-heavy. Sometimes I find it much easier to move the story along than writing sweeping descriptions. Someone asked if I was adding dialogue in from deleted scenes in the show, but everything apart from the lines you recognise is my own invention. I just hope it flows naturally with the show's dialogue.
> 
> Reviews are candy! I love hearing what you guys think will happen.


	11. Chapter XI

Chapter XI

Part One

The train screeched to a halt at the Downton station two hours behind schedule. Evening was falling, but Anna thought she could use a walk after the long journey. The ride itself hadn't lent itself well to thinking things over; sandwiched between a man whose girth pressed uncomfortably against her and a fidgety young boy, the mother of whom didn't seem to find his behaviour potentially annoying for the others in their compartment and didn't attempt to settle him. Anna had left London at noon after saying goodbye to Mrs. Bates at her home and catching a bus to the station, all the while wishing she didn't have to leave the woman alone.

Chronic bronchitis, the doctor had said, prescribing a syrup and rest. Mrs. Bates was seventy-seven, he'd reminded Anna after the appointment. "The idea is to keep her comfortable for the time she has left." But she'd known that from the moment she saw the woman, after she'd greeted Lizzie at the door and been ushered in out of the rain. Mrs. Bates had gotten out of bed, where she'd been resting, and insisted on waiting for Anna's arrival. They'd had tea, and talked.

"I'm so glad you've come, dear," the old woman had said, her consonants fractured and skippy, the vowels wisping by. "It's been too long since I've had a proper chat."

The conversation shifted from its dull beginnings covering the English weather, to the unpleasantness of war, to Irish folklore. Mrs. Bates asked her if she knew of Samhain, and Anna shook her head.

"On Samhain, at autumn's end, some people believe the faerie gates open for the night, and the dead can roam between this world and the next. When I was a child we would light candles so our loved ones could find their way home." The words lilted prettily, trailing off on a strained breath. Her eyes were bright with the memory.

Anna had smiled. "That's lovely."

"Yes," Mrs. Bates said. But then she'd begun to cough, and they both decided to continue the conversation the next day.

On the walk from the station up to Downton, it again began to rain, a storm not far off. Anna tried to save the hem of her day dress from mud splatters while keeping ahold of her bag and the umbrella, but a wind buffeted the rain around her. It all reminded her eerily of her arrival in the village three years ago now. The darkness, the rain, the mud. By the time she made it back to the house she was practically soaked through and miserable.

Miss O'Brien balked at the sight of her peeling off her coat, her bag beside her on the floor. "Blimey! What happened to you?"

"I walked back from the station. Will you tell Mrs. Hughes I've gone up to change, please?"

"If I happen to see her."

Anna fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Thank you, Miss O'Brien."

* * *

The family dinner was already ending by the time she arrived home, yet she still changed into a clean uniform before coming back down, carrying her muddy shoes.

Mrs. Hughes looked up when she entered the servants' hall. "Ah, Anna, you're back. I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

"The train was late," she explained. "I walked from the station."

"Goodness! In all that rain?"

She chuckled wryly. "Well, it hadn't started when I set off."

The housekeeper scanned the empty hallway. "And have you thought about…?"

"Yes," Anna said quietly.

"So, you've made up your mind?"

Anna avoided her eyes. "Yes...Several times."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "The poor man's heart is breaking for not knowing. He's barely said a word in the two days you've been gone."

"His mother's ill."

"That's true. But you know that's not all of it."

"Where is he now?"

"Just went up to see to his lordship, and Betsy's finishing with the girls."

"Should I go up, then? To help?"

"No sense in it now, they'll all be down soon, and Daisy's already set the table for the servants' dinner. Did you want to do those?"

Anna remembered her dirty shoes, held by the buckles in her left hand, and nodded. She went to the boot room and picked mud out of the soles, but was interrupted by the sound of Mr. Carson calling everyone to dinner. She set the shoes on the rack with the other dirty ones to be polished later. They looked silly there. Plain and little, the heels scuffed.

* * *

She was already at the table with the others when Mr. Bates and Miss O'Brien finally came down after finishing their duties. She missed Gwen. Ethel was nice enough, but she couldn't imagine them bonding the way she and Gwen had. In the weeks leading up to her departure, Anna had helped her brush up on her shorthand by dictating ridiculous sentences, trying to make Gwen laugh. The challenge was to remain straight-faced and professional while taking down whatever nonsense Anna spouted in their bedroom past midnight. There were always letters, but sometimes she simply wanted to talk to her friend like they used to.

"You've dried off, I see," Miss O'Brien said, sitting across from Anna. "She looked like a drowned rat when she came inside."

Mr. Bates gave her a small smile in greeting, and she returned it, scooting her chair a little to the side so he could take his place at the table.

"The train was late?"

Anna nodded. "We were delayed in Leeds. I got back half an hour ago."

They unfolded their napkins and waited for Mr. Carson to serve the dinner.

"And how did it go in London?"

She didn't know how much to say at the table, but it was late, and he was asking. "The cough sounded so painful, but she insisted it wasn't, not when she took honey in her tea."

"She would say that."

"The doctor says she has emphysema," Anna said quietly, remembering the new word, "along with chronic bronchitis. It's quite serious." Plates with stew were set in front of them.

Mr. Bates nodded, seeming already resigned to the diagnosis. "Did he mention a treatment?"

"He gave her some breathing exercises. Those seemed to help. There was also a syrup, but she doesn't like the taste of it." A smile tugged at her lips when she thought of Mrs. Bates' curse after taking it for the first time. Apparently, it tasted just how it smelled -like a stinky old boot. "But mostly he said it was important for her to rest."

"Good," he said, nodding along. There was an awkward pause during which they both took a bite of stew. "Did he say how much time...did it seem…"

Anna wanted to take his hand, give him some form of comfort, but couldn't in front of everyone else. It was uncertain whether he'd even welcome it -she'd grown accustomed to his preference for keeping much of his emotions secret, some only decipherable through his eyes; even, sometimes, his love for her.

"A year. Maybe two."

"A year," he repeated.

Not knowing what to say, she said nothing, just kept a careful eye on him for the rest of the meal, wondering how it felt to learn, over a plate of stew, that your remaining parent would almost certainly die within two years. Her own father's death had been sudden, which might have been a blessing compared to a drawn-out illness. She'd come home from school one day to her mother crying, and that was it.

* * *

He disappeared after dinner, and part of her was glad to postpone the other conversation she knew they needed to have. Though to drag it out any longer might be equally frustrating. In the boot room, she tended to her shoes, cleaning them off, buffing the polish into the thin leather, drawing out the process in hopes that he'd magically turn up and she wouldn't have to seek him out. It was nearing midnight when she brought a pair of Lady Sybil's shoes to the table to work on. He couldn't be in the courtyard -it was still raining, the sound of it on the low windows a balm in the normally quiet, hollow-sounding room.

Then, as she was putting the finishing touches on the left shoe, Mr. Bates finally appeared, the smell of tobacco drifting in with him. He didn't often smoke, but perhaps tonight had called for a cigarette.

"Shall I give you a hand?" he asked, neither remarking on the lateness of the hour nor the fact that the work could wait till morning.

"Thank you." She put the right shoe on the other side of the table, pushed a brush and the tin of polish to the centre for them to share.

They worked quietly until she spoke again, not looking up. "I'm ever so sorry about your mother."

"It's all right," he said. "I think she knew, even without seeing a doctor. Before Christmas, when I saw her, I think she might have known she didn't have much time left."

"It's a shame she's not nearer here, else you could see her more often."

"Yes," he agreed, "it is a shame."

Skirting around the elephant in the room was starting to drive her mad, and she set down the brush. "I've given a great deal of thought to your question, Mr. Bates," she said. The formalness of her words made it sound as if she were speaking to a stranger.

He looked up, eyes on hers, immediately giving her his full attention. "...And?"

Keeping her hands on the table to steady herself, she took the first step. "And there's something you must know."

When he didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue, her heart felt like a full sponge, her whole being taut as a wire thinking this could be the moment where everything changed between them -for the best, for the worst. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, then plunged in.

"There was someone else. Before I met you," she added quickly. "Before I came to Downton."

He blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

She wondered if she could phrase it the same way she had with Mrs. Hughes, who'd grasped the euphemism immediately.

"Someone else. Another man." She chewed at her lip, her eyes desperate, trying to make him understand without spitting it out.

It registered slowly. The same surprise she'd seen cross Mrs. Hughes' face, though he too tried to bury it away as soon as it appeared. Her lip began to tremble as it always did before she cried. Setting her jaw to make it stop, she picked up the brush, polishing the shoe again, the rough motion the only sound in the room. A metallic taste in her mouth, like it was full of coins. Then footsteps as he slowly walked around to her side of the table, his shadow falling over her work, a large hand stilling hers on the shoe. She let the brush go, let him pull the shoe away from her hand.

"I understand," he said quietly.

She looked up at him, worried, her lip trembling even more.

The expression of hidden surprise had left his face, replaced by a calm, considerate one. "Did you think I would care about that sort of thing?"

She sighed, some tears escaping, incredibly relieved the words were finally out of her mouth, no matter how they were received. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Is that why you didn't say yes? Because you thought knowing would change my mind?"

She wiped at her eyes stubbornly. "It was because...I'm spoiled for you."

"Oh, dear," he said with an airy chuckle, making her frown. None of it was funny. Not to her. He took her face in his hands, thumbs going over her cheekbones, making her look into his eyes. "You are not spoiled. You could never be spoiled."

Her guts twisted with guilt. She couldn't tell him anything else. This was all she absolutely needed to say, wasn't it? The other things didn't matter. The marks of what had been done to her had long faded away, though the memory remained fresh. Her daughter was gone, and she'd never see her again. No use dwelling. She could start again. In that instant, she convinced herself that this was all she needed to tell him. It was a lie, and she knew it, but she also knew she could keep the other things buried. She had for five years, now.

"I love you," he said, his voice soft. "I'd love you however, whatever, whenever…"

Worry she'd been keeping locked inside flew out like a liberated bird. Her eyes searched his. "Truly?"

He chuffed a laugh, a thumb spreading a tear out across her cheek instead of letting it fall. "Truly."

She sniffed, holding back tears, and a small smile turned, unbidden, into a sob of relief. She leaned into him, cheek against his shoulder, holding his arm, and cried. When she'd imagined this moment, somehow their conversation had been drawn out longer, but in the end all he'd needed to say, all she'd needed to hear, was one word. Now she felt his hand cup the back of her head, then move lower, to wrap around her. They held each other. In the end, that was enough.

After a minute she quieted, but kept her face tucked into him, breathing, drier eyes moving about the room to remind herself that this was all real and they weren't two shipwrecked survivors on an island.

"I love you, too," she whispered. When she leaned back in their embrace to look up at him and he tucked some wisps of hair behind her ear, she felt like she was water, and he was dragging his knuckles along the surface.

"So, you will, then? You will marry me?"

A shy smile followed by a little laugh. "Yes, I'll marry you, Mr. Bates."

Happiness came over his face like a sudden burst of sunshine on a cloudy day, and he drew her close again, kissing her smiling lips. Laughter bubbled inside of her, escaping when they pulled apart, contained when they kissed again.

* * *

Part Two

England was at war, but Anna could hold back her smiles the next day, greeting everyone brightly as she oversaw the pre-breakfast tasks around the house. A sudden girlish shyness overtook her when she saw Mr. Bates for the first time that morning, cheeks warming as she sat beside him. It wouldn't have surprised her if last night had been a dream.

"It's far too early to look that happy," he said, pretending to be disgruntled.

She giggled. "Ah, but I've something to be happy about. Haven't you, Mr. Bates?"

He shrugged. "I do, but it seems I'm far better at keeping it under my hat than you."

She tried to school her grin, but only chuckled again when she saw he was also smiling. It helped when Mr. Carson came in, forcing them to stand and sit again. Through breakfast they remained composed enough, and Anna was light on her feet when she got up to take the girls their cups of tea.

After everyone had been dressed and she'd helped make the beds, Anna went back downstairs to find the list she had made of things that needed to be done that day, remembering she'd tucked it in her coat pocket on the train the night before. The ink had run a little, but it was still legible.

"When can I talk to you?" Mr. Bates asked, surprising her halfway to the door. Where had he come from?

She smiled. "I've got a moment now."

"No, later. We should tell Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes," he said.

"Mrs. Hughes knows."

"She does?"

Anna nodded.

"Why?"

"I spoke to her before I left for London. She gave me some advice."

"Was it good advice?"

She smirked. "Would we be having this conversation if it hadn't been?"

He nodded in concession.

"Around the servants' tea?" Anna said. "We should be able to catch them both together."

* * *

She didn't have to wait that long to share the news with someone. When she ducked her head into the library after lunch to check if Lord Grantham was there before starting on the dusting, he called her in.

"Bates told me the news this morning," he said warmly. "I want to offer my congratulations, on behalf of the whole family."

"Thank you, your lordship," she said. It still seemed like a fairytale to her -so sparklingly new. Hearing it from someone else's lips made it all wonderfully real.

He chuckled ruefully. "Poor old Carson may never get over the shock of a valet being married to a housemaid, but it's a changing world."

"It is, milord."

* * *

"Engaged?" Mr. Carson exclaimed, glancing from Anna, to Mr. Bates, to Mrs. Hughes after they'd broken the news to him in his pantry. "Engaged to be married?"

"That is usually the implication," Mrs. Hughes said. "You needn't look so aghast, Mr. Carson. It's perfectly respectable."

"Well, yes, but I could have done with some advanced warning," the butler said, recovering.

"Should I have asked your permission to marry her, Mr. Carson?"

Mrs. Hughes smirked. "It isn't as if they're running off like Michael and Lilly."

"Enough jokes," the butler said. "And his lordship knows of your plans?"

Anna gave her new fiancé a pointed look."Mr. Bates asked his lordship _before_ he asked me."

Mr. Carson nodded. "Very well. You realise we can't accommodate you in the servants' quarters."

"No, Mr. Carson. His lordship will find one of the cottages for us. We can walk up in time for breakfast," Mr. Bates promised.

Though the butler seemed troubled by this change in what had up until now been a perfectly oiled machine, he cleared his throat. "And what about here, at the house? Won't it...disrupt things?"

"We've managed well enough so far, Mr. Carson," Anna said. He gave her a stern look, but his face softened at her playful smile.

"Oh, very well," he said at last. "Congratulations, to the both of you." He shook their hands in turn, as did Mrs. Hughes, who echoed the sentiment. "When is the wedding to be?"

Anna looked at Mr. Bates, who shrugged. "As of right now I couldn't say. We'll have to wait for the cottage to be prepared."

She'd been so overwhelmed the night before, she'd forgotten that accepting a proposal meant planning a wedding. Clearly, the connection seemed to have slipped Mr. Bates mind as well. But it was in their future. That's what mattered.

News of their engagement had spread through the entire house before anyone sat down to the servants' dinner, and the meal was full of happy chatter. No one seemed in the least surprised, except perhaps Ethel. They were congratulated by everyone except Miss O'Brien, who barely acknowledged it except to say,

"It doesn't seem quite right. I've never heard of two married servants working in the same house. And housemaids usually leave service once they're married."

"I agree that it does appear highly irregular at first glance," Mr. Carson said, "but his lordship assured me he had no reservations."

"I think it's lovely," Daisy said dreamily, lingering in the doorway. "And just think -we'll have a wedding to go to!"

Anna smiled. She loved weddings. It did seem odd, though, to plan one in the middle of a war. At least whatever they did would be small and simple -she knew that much. And hopefully they wouldn't have to wait too terribly long. Who knew what the next day's headlines would be?

* * *

Now that their relationship, however private they thought it had been, was now public knowledge, Anna was more self conscious about slipping out the servants' door to meet Mr. Bates in the courtyard after dinner. One side of her felt sixteen, the other side insisted that she was a woman and not one of the Crawley daughters who had chaperones lurking in every corner during the London Season. The likelihood of Mrs. Hughes snooping on them was low.

Still, she followed Mr. Bates outside in the following days, the first taste of summer in the June air, her hand in his, no longer needing to hide their affection for each other.

"You don't suppose Miss O'Brien was right the other day?"

"Tread very carefully wherever you're headed, Mr. Bates," Anna warned.

He chuckled. "Right in a roundabout way. Do you think it'll change things -working together, living together?"

"We already live together and work together."

"No, I mean it. Would you rather leave service? Stay at home? If, one day...we were to…"

"...Start a family?"

He nodded.

"Well, I suppose I'd have to, wouldn't I?" Yet another thing that, in her bliss, she'd overlooked. She would, in all likelihood, have more children in her life. These ones wished for, conceived out of love, anticipated with joy. Grief washed over her at the thought. They hadn't ever talked about this. "Is that...do you want a family?"

She couldn't quite make out his expression in the low light of evening.

"I want whatever you want."

"Well, we have time for all of that," she said by way of an answer. "Have you spoken to his lordship about the cottage?"

"He said Mrs. Bow wants to live in the village, so we might get hers. If not, I'm afraid there might be some home-improvement involved."

"What do you mean?"

"Some painting, putting in electricity if we wanted it…Don't worry -I'll take care of it."

"Well, if it comes to that, I'll be helping. I won't have you on any ladders, or...picking a colour I don't care for."

He chuckled, squeezed her hand. "Yes, dear."

Anna was still troubled by the idea of them having a family. Why hadn't he and Vera had a child? Had the marriage been that loveless? Or maybe they had, and he wasn't telling her. Two could easily play at that game.

* * *

A week later Anna sat at the servants' table with her mending, listening while Mr. Bates taught William and one of the hall boys how to play Rummy. The younger men listened attentively, and she could almost imagine him a father explaining the rules of a game to his sons. Perhaps she'd shut that line of thinking out while she fell in love with him -loving him for who he was as a man, as a friend. Until he'd mentioned starting a family, she hadn't pictured him as a father. Now, in flickering glimpses, she saw that he could be one -a good one.

"Telegram for you, Mr. Bates," Mrs. Hughes said, walking into the servants' dining room. "And there's a letter for you, Betsy." She set the telegram beside the cards already laid down on the table. "Who's in the lead?"

"Peter," Mr. Bates said with a note of surprise, putting down his hand and taking the telegram.

Peter shrugged. "He's letting us win."

The sound of ripping paper, and Anna watched Mr. Bates open the telegram, reading it quickly. He looked at her, slid the telegram across the table, stood, and slowly walked out. They all watched him go, puzzled.

"What is it?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

Anna read the short message and stood, folding it. "His mother's dead."


	12. Chapter XII

Chapter XII

Beeswax dripped onto the desk, immediately forming two tiny pearls on the wood. Anna, sitting at the desk in their room, looked up from her notebook at the candle, half the height it had been when she'd sat down to write. She'd begun three drafts, abandoned each one, and started over for the past hour. What she had to say could be conveyed in a telegram, but somehow she felt the news would be more warmly received as a letter. If it was warmly received at all. The last time she'd seen her mother and stepfather replayed itself in her mind.

It was a great improvement from the places Anna had grown up in. No visible mould, leaks staining the ceiling, peeling paint, or cold stove. After she'd climbed two flights of stairs, pausing on the landing to breathe deeply before knocking, the door opened to a sitting room. It contained a comfortable looking armchair, two other chairs she recognised from the home she'd left behind when she moved to Henley, a low table, and a small window, fogged from the cold weather and the heat of the fire. Some framed photographs were displayed on the mantle, and next to the door was a small bookcase. The walls were clean. Anna didn't know how many rooms were in the flat, but this one alone wasn't altogether unpleasant. The looks on both their faces when she'd taken her off her coat after coming inside.

"Oh, Anna..."

Her mother's hand raised to her mouth in shock. Her stepfather's mouth twisting like he'd swallowed sour milk.

Her mother's shock turning to pity. Her stepfather saying nothing, going to stoke the fire. Clattering.

"Why didn't you say anything?" her mother asked, leading her to one of the wooden chairs -the armchair was clearly reserved for Frank.

"She didn't think we'd let her come back, that's why," he said. "And she's right. This isn't a hostel."

Anna glanced at him, her eyes hard. It had been such a long journey, and she hadn't had a proper night's sleep in what felt like a month. She had prepared herself for his reaction, even rehearsed some retorts, but now she found it took all the energy she had left to not simply fall asleep in the chair.

"Just one or two nights," she said. "I'll find somewhere else."

Her mother's eyes moved over her, flitting like a moth from her daughter's swollen belly, more obvious now that her corset couldn't conceal it, to her face. Anna knew she looked terrible. The sickness that had plagued her in the beginning, before she'd known the cause behind it, had come and gone over the months, leaving her perpetually hungry but too nauseous to eat the amount she probably should. Her cheeks were thin, her lips white.

"But where?"

"I...I'm not sure yet." Her sister was too far away, and any other relations wouldn't take her in, she knew that much. She could go to London, stay in a boarding house until the baby came, then go back into service. But she didn't know the city well enough to get off a train and find a place to stay before nightfall.

"Who's the father?" Frank asked. "Can't you go to him?"

"No, I can't."

"Then why didn't you get rid of it?"

"Frank!"

"Didn't you say that's what the Rennick girl did? A hot bath and-"

"Frank, you stop that sort of talk this instant!" She touched Anna's shoulder. "Some tea?"

Anna nodded gratefully. Her mother patted her hand and left the chair, going left into a thin hallway that led to the rest of the flat, whatever it consisted of. Frank followed her out. Anna took advantage of the moment to relax in the chair, shifting her posture as the baby pressed uncomfortably against her ribs. The sound of hushed arguing from the other room. Had she expected anything else?

Frank came back before her mother did, sitting in his armchair, watching her straighten up.

"Don't think of asking your sister to take it in," he warned. "She's got enough to deal with. And we're not helping out, neither. You got yourself into this mess."

"How do you make that out?" she asked sharply.

He raised his finger. "Don't you talk to me that way. You're ruined, and now you'll deal with the consequences."

Her mother returned shortly, and they had tea, the conversation stilted and awkward. There was both nothing to talk about and everything to talk about.

"You could find work as a wet nurse," her mother suggested, ignoring Frank's scoff.

Anna nodded absently. If her plan worked, that could be a valid option, at least for a little while. Leave the child somewhere and forget about it,. Move on. She could go through with it. She hadn't had the courage to get rid of the child once she'd felt it start to move, but she could leave it somewhere. It wasn't pleasant to think about how cold it would be in January, but over the months she'd been able to convince herself. But she couldn't reveal the plan to her mother. Even if they would have taken it in, she wouldn't leave the child to grow up with Frank, no matter how much she despised it.

"And he won't marry you?"

"No."

"You could have tricked someone else into it," Frank said, sounding like he was offering the best possible advice.

"And what would I have said when it came four months after the wedding, then?"

"You didn't know?" her mother asked. "For...this long?"

Anna shrugged. "I didn't know what to look for," she said bitterly. She hadn't fully understood what relations between a man and woman consisted of until she'd experienced that, either.

That night she slept on the floor. There was a thin carpet, but the floor felt about as forgiving as concrete. Her mother had tried to persuade Frank to leave Anna the bed, but he'd refused, and so she'd been given her mother's pillow, a stray cushion, a quilt, and some sheets. One concession Frank made was to not put out the fire, so she slept near it, turned on her side with the pillow under her belly. She patted a spot on her left side where little feet were trying to push their way out, her eyes drooping.

And now to write to her mother with the news that she was engaged, that she was getting married despite being 'ruined', as her stepfather had so charmingly put it? Would she come to the wedding? If she did, would Frank be with her? Her stepfather was able to appear eerily amiable when he wanted to. At first, she'd thought he wasn't that bad. No substitute for her father, but not a _bad_ man. He knew card tricks, and had seemingly endless riddles to entertain them with. Outwardly, he had stayed that way for years. Her mother hadn't believed a word when Anna first told her what sometimes went on in the dark. Then came the drinking, and his real personality came out behind closed doors. When Anna told her again, begged her mother to do something, because it was getting worse, she'd heard a violent argument take place while she skipped rope with her sister outside. Frank saying she was a dirty and ungrateful liar, and his wife was a fool to believe her. With his drinking, money began to run low. A month after Anna had fought him off with a kitchen knife, she found a job and moved away from home.

What was the point, then, in writing now? Why say anything? They hadn't heard from her since the day she'd left for London. How her plan had disintegrated when she first saw her daughter. How she'd fought to find her a place at the Foundling Hospital. How she'd gotten a job at Downton. How she was now happier than she'd ever thought possible. Anna put down her pencil, closed her notebook, tucked it back in the drawer, and blew out the candle.

* * *

She awoke tired, and the morning seemed to slug by. Lady Sybil spilled some bouillon on her dress during luncheon, one of the maids accidentally knocked a vase over in the drawing room, and Betsy had taken a day off to see her brother before he went off to war. In the servants' hall after changing for the afternoon, Anna wiped her hands briskly on her apron before reaching round the back to untie it. Finally some time to sit, though she wasn't planning to linger over her tea. She had to polish jewellery.

Behind her, the back door opened, and Mr. Bates came inside.

"Hello," she said carefully.

He gave her a smile. "It's all right, you don't need to walk on eggshells."

"Well, then, how was the service?" She took off her apron and hung it on a hook on the wall while he shrugged out of his coat and hung it.

"Fine," he said easily, following her into the servants' dining room. "Small. I do have to talk to you about something, though."

"Yes?"

They sat, and she poured them each a cup of tea. "There was a letter. Lizzie found it in her desk while we were...sorting things. Mother must've written it after your visit." From out of the inside of his jacket he took a small envelope and placed it in front of her. On the front ' _John_ ' was written faintly in pencil.

Anna sat, picked up the letter, and opened it. More spidery, silver handwriting on the single sheet of paper inside. They were alone at the table. She cleared her throat and read it aloud.

_'Upon my passing I would like Miss Smith -Anna- to have everything originally left to Vera Bates in my will, even if she is not yet your wife.'_

It was signed. Anna looked at Mr. Bates. "B-but what does she mean, 'everything'? What was left to Vera?"

"Most of her possessions. Mother left me the house, and quite a bit of money. Much more than I thought. But she must have not thought to change her will while I was in prison, when I was still married to Vera."

Anna took this in, struck with the enormity of being left something by a woman she had met only twice. And the inside of Mrs. Bates' home wasn't adorned with odd knick-knacks and ordinary furniture. It was certainly modest, but there was history behind what filled it.

"It doesn't seem right -her leaving me something. Is it even legal? Doesn't a will have to be witnessed?"

"Of course it's right. She liked you." He took a sip of tea. "I met with her lawyer. He's looking into it."

"But what about Vera? Does she even know your mother died?"

"The obituary was printed, but I don't have any sort of way to contact Vera. We even looked for her address among Mother's things, but all we found was the old one, and the landlord had no forwarding address."

Anna stood, turned around to the side table to pick up the rag and box of jewellery she'd brought down to polish, and set them on the table. "So...what are we going to do? And what about the house? You can't just leave it up in London, empty." She sat, dipping a small rag into the tin of polish.

"I was thinking of selling it," he said, watching her hands as she got to work.

"Selling?"

"It would probably fetch a good price," he said. "We could set the money aside, save it. Unless...did you want to live there...later? In London?"

"No. Not in London. But maybe you could rent it out for a bit…save that way."

He took another sip of tea, considering. "Perhaps you're right. The next time I get time off I could go up there...get it ready."

"Maybe I could come with you," she offered. "We could do it together."

He smiled, nodding slightly, but they both straightened up when Ethel came in, flopping down in a chair across from them with a new magazine.

* * *

Anna should have known life couldn't be that easy. Just over two weeks later, not long after a letter came informing them that Mrs. Bates' scrawled note was legally valid, Anna came downstairs to the servants' hall, looking for Ethel. She had disappeared sometime between making the beds and heading down to the dining room, where Anna had asked her to help William set the table for the upstairs' luncheon. The hall was mostly empty save the kitchen staff, but voices could be heard as Anna walked down the stairs.

"How do you know?" Ethel asked. Anna sighed, seeing the other maid in the servants' dining room down the hall, standing and chatting with someone.

"Well, you see, I worked for Lady Flintshire." The other voice belonged to a woman, but it was unfamiliar, and accented. Anna sped up, entering the servants' dining room before Ethel could say another word.

"Ethel?" The other maid looked at her quickly, not happy to be caught away from her work. "I hope you've offered our visitor some tea."

The visitor, a woman in her late thirties, Anna guessed, with dark features but a fair Irish complexion sat in the chair Thomas usually chose, turned toward where Ethel had been standing. Her clothing was smart, her appearance neat.

"I'll go and ask Daisy," Ethel said, quickly leaving. Anna smiled politely at the woman, then followed Ethel.

"What is the first law of service?" she asked quietly, before Ethel could escape. "We do not discuss the business of this house with strangers." Anna was surprised by the strength of her desire to protect Downton, and the Crawleys. She'd never felt that sense of loyalty before, anywhere she'd worked.

"But she's not a stranger," Ethel said. "She used to be Mr. Bates' wife." She looked at Anna uncomfortably. "Has anyone told him she's here?"

Before she could turn away, Anna stopped her. "I'll take care of the tea," she said, still quiet. "Could you...can you go and fetch Mr. Bates?" Ethel nodded. "And if you see another maid, tell her to help lay the table with William. Tell her it came from me."

Ethel nodded again and hurried upstairs. After asking one of the kitchen maids to prepare some tea, Anna collected herself and went back to the servants' dining room. Vera Bates was still there, radiating an aura of confidence, as if there was no reason she shouldn't be at Downton Abbey. Mr. Bates had never discussed his former wife more than was necessary -Anna only had stories from his mother. As his fiancé, she was naturally inclined to dislike the woman who had caused him so much hardship. So far, however, Vera exhibited no glaring visible reason why she should be disliked. Anna smiled again, this time with some hesitation.

"So, you're Anna."

"I am," she said, though how Vera knew her based on appearance alone was beyond her.

"You're the one who went to call on my late, lamented mother-in-law."

Anna nodded. "Yes, I did."

Vera smiled a little. "I know you did. What I don't know is how you managed to convince her to leave you her things…" A stroke of bitterness ran through her words. The cadence of Mr. Bates' footsteps came from the hallway. "I suppose her being senile helped."

Anna looked away, meeting Mr. Bates' eyes as he appeared in the doorway, Ethel behind him with cheeks flushed from going upstairs. He seemed less surprised than Anna, yet still caught off-guard.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Vera," he said by way of a greeting. Vera saw him, and Anna studied her reaction carefully. The woman pursed her lips in a small smirk, glancing at Mr. Bates' hand on his cane, her eyes light. "I was up in the attics sorting out some cupboards."

"Don't worry," Vera said pleasantly, as if nothing was amiss. "I've been having a nice time here with Ethel and Miss Smith." The last two words came out differently, with an edge. The light clinking of keys announced the arrival of Mrs. Hughes from the hall.

"Mr. Bates," she began, trying to hide any uneasiness in her voice, and not succeeding. "Ethel told me about your...visitor, so I've had the tea put in my sitting room. I thought you might take Mrs. Bates in there." Vera smiled at the sound of her name, glancing at Anna. Why she continued to hide behind her married name was unclear. Anna knew she was Vera Gallagher now.

Mr. Bates nodded. "That's very thoughtful, Mrs. Hughes."

"It is," Vera said. "But then you're all _so_ kind."

As Vera stood and followed Mrs. Hughes, revealing her height and strength in the way she carried herself, Mr. Bates looked quickly at Anna. Whatever he was trying to convey with his eyes, Anna didn't catch it.

* * *

Anna wasn't yet Mr. Bates wife. She had no claim to his business, nor any other excuse to stay there, waiting nervously while they took their tea. There was work to be done, and she was just smoothing down her apron, about to follow Ethel back upstairs, when Mrs. Hughes returned from showing Mr. Bates and Vera to her sitting room.

"Anna?"

Anna turned at the sound of her name while Ethel continued to climb the stairs.

"Yes?"

"Stay," Mrs. Hughes said. "You're white as a sheet."

"But I have to help serve-"

"Betsy can serve today," the housekeeper insisted. "Now, go and get some fresh air. I'll get you a cup of tea."

Outside, the air wasn't so much fresh as it was thick with early summer heat, the sun pouring down; such a beautiful day to herald such an unwelcome visit. Anna only lingered a moment, face tipped up to the sky to feel the bright rays warm on her closed eyelids. A deep breath, then she went back inside.

Alone, she drank a cup of sugary tea at the servants' table, waiting for what seemed like an hour but was probably no longer than fifteen minutes, until the door to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room opened and closed. She watched the hall, eyes wide, and was relieved to see Mr. Bates alone and walking to her.

"What does she want?" Anna asked quietly, for Vera surely wouldn't come all the way to Yorkshire only to complain and leave again.

"She wants what was promised to her in Mother's will. Everything that now, legally, belongs to you," he explained. "She tried to blackmail you with some ridiculous rumours, but I offered her money, and I think she'll be happy enough with that."

A chill washed over her. "What sort of rumours?"

He scoffed. "About what happened at Mayfield with Lord Darlington's son. She said he was murdered by his brother, of all people. She heard it from Lady Flintshire's maid. A pack of lies -there's no truth in it." At whatever expression Anna now wore, he lowered his voice. "Is there?"

She just stared up at him, her jaw tight, worried.

"But you said you were the one who found him, didn't you?" he asked in a whisper. "He couldn't have been murdered. Didn't they say it was a heart attack?"

Anna's whole being felt coiled as a tangled electrical wire. One false move and she'd short circuit. "I promise, one day I'll tell you the whole story. I _promise_ ," she insisted, seeing the doubt in his eyes. "We have to give her what she really wants. Else she'll only come back for more money to buy her silence."

"But even if she were to spread the rumour, no one would believe it! It wouldn't affect _you_ , in any case."

"But, you see, I'm the first person they'd suspect of spreading it. I thought Lord Darlington and Mister Edward were the only others to know -God knows how it got out-." Her panic grew with each sentence. "I don't know what could happen. I can't have them find me."

"' _Find you_ '?"

She looked at him miserably.

He touched her arm. "All right. All right," he said, placating her, though not understanding the extent of her fear. "I'll tell her she can have Mother's things."

"But-"

He stroked her arm again. "Don't worry. If it's what you want, it's what we'll do."

"I'm sorry."

His hand left her, but his eyes didn't. His brow wrinkled a little, puzzled by her behaviour. How could she expect him to understand? Downton Abbey had been her haven from the day she'd arrived. No one knew her. No one had seen her face. She was completely anonymous and safe in the countryside. If anything were to jeopardise that, she didn't know how she'd cope.

Anna left the servants' hall after Mr. Bates turned to go back to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room. She couldn't stay there, waiting for the conversation to end, for Vera to leave. Work waited for her upstairs, and she escaped up to it, even as other maids passed her to have their tea. A hundred times she'd relieved Lord Darlington shaking her, telling her she wasn't to say a word to anyone. Every time she saw him she remembered the heartbreak in his eyes. The death of one son, the hopeless madness of the other. It was so carefully concealed, she never would have guessed the doctor coming was for anything other than a sickly boy. If even a word slipped out about Master Alexander's death being anything but tragic and natural there would be a witch hunt. Or maybe Mr. Bates was right, and the family's status would stamp out any wild rumours simply because of their ludicrousness. Even if he was, and even if the Egertons never found her, it was a risk she wasn't willing to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I went back to work and although I wrote a lot, none of it was for this chapter. I find it really difficult to write "easy" chapters (aka fluff, scenes where not much happens, filler, etc), and although this one might not seem very "easy", it was relatively simple to write and therefor...impossible for me. Which is why you get some angst in the beginning. That was the fun part to write. I did some research into wills, and notes like Mrs. Bates' can be interpreted as legal in some cases. But I'm not an expert. I also couldn't find much about divorce in the early 20th century (most of what I found was 19th century) since it was so rare, so I don't actually know if Vera would have reverted to her maiden name or kept her married one. Oh well.
> 
> Readers really didn't want Vera to show up, but despite resenting what her appearance in the show did to Anna/Bates, I LOVED seeing her and having a glimpse at Mr. Bates' past. And Maria Doyle Kennedy was fantastic. Normally, I really don't like spoiling my stories, but I'll put you all out of your misery before you jump ship: this is the extent of the trouble Vera's going to cause in this story.
> 
> Also! I've seen Anna's mother written various ways in fic, but as I'm writing this knowing all of Anna's canon storyline, I tried to make that relationship as real as I could, with its complications still intact.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! Not my favourite chapter, but I'm glad I'm publishing it anyway.


End file.
